My Dying Light
by Joby87
Summary: Set in Season 4. After a misunderstanding, Sam and Dean take on seperate hunts. Dean decides to go after the demon Lilith, whilst Sam takes on a monster, never before seen by man. Only Sam barely comes out of the hunt alive, leaving Dean left to find and save him. All the while demons conspire against the Winchesters striking them when they are most vulnerable. Hurt Sam/Dean.
1. Chapter 1

**Hi Guys! Yes, for those of you who are confused, I did delete this story. I'm bringing it back only for a limited time so that others can read it, and I've also revamped it to a degree. **

**Disclaimer: This is a traditional medical/hurt/limp boys fic. I'm not a medical professional, therefore the integrity of medical information interspersed throughout this entire story is fallible. I've done research, thanks to the internet. That about sums it up! Any questions, let me know.**

**This takes place during season 4, just after** _Metamorphosis,_ episode 4. **Enjoy!**

* * *

The forest was dark. Darker than any other forest he experienced. He had no idea where he was running, only that he was running, and fast. Low-lying branches with razor sharp leaves swiped at his face, whipping his chest. Prickly bushes snagged at his legs. The full moon provided little light to aid in his flight. The rustling and pounding footsteps of the enemy could be heard mere feet away behind him, propelling him to go faster. His boots slipped and glided through the mud, but he kept going. His gun was left somewhere among the ground cover, forgotten when the beast gained the upper hand, swiping it out of his hands. After that, Dean felt that he had no choice but to run. It was a werewolf after all.

He had no idea where his brother disappeared off to. One minute they were side by side, tracking down the monster that had been ravaging the woods, killing off hikers, bears, and other wildlife critters for the last three days, and the next they were separated. He called Sam's name several times over, which is probably what led the beast to him. It appeared out of nowhere—as if committing a Harry Potter- seemingly materializing out of thin air. He didn't seem too dangerous at first: a lousy middle-aged couch potato with thinning hair, pimples, and a beer gut. Let's not forget the claws and the teeth.

But when he exhibited superior strength and agility a fat guy could never be capable of, Dean knew not to take his chances. He sprinted away heading for cover, heading for the Impala, the vision of the hellhounds still fresh in his mind. His muscles screamed at the strenuous effort, pleading for him to stop. Sweat ran down in little rivers on his skin, chilling him to the bone as a chilly wind swept through the land. His heart hammered painfully against his ribcage and he tried not to think of it, still pumping rapidly in the creature's jaws. The werewolf bounded after him, snarling, spitting out globs of drool as it chased.

He took an immediate left into another clearing of trees, when something large and heavy barreled into him. He landed harshly on his side in the dirt, and he rolled over, terrified, of what he was about to face. The dark figure across from him sat up, the ill-received moonlight illuminating a part of its obscured face.

_Sam?_

Dean let out a cackle of relief, slumping back to the ground.

"Dean?" his brother asked, rising to his feet.

"You idiot! Where the hell have you been?"

"Looking for you. Where the hell did you go?" Sam asked, extending out his hand.

Dean accepted the hand and lifted himself out of the gunk. "It doesn't matter. Where did it go? Did you see it?" he panted, resting his hands on his knees.

"No, I heard you calling my name. Then I heard a howl. That's when I took off to find you."

If Sam could see his brother's face, he would've noticed it was slightly panicked. "Sam, it was right behind me, it…" Dean began, but was interrupted when the beast in question leapt from a tree branch and landed in front of them. It swung its arm out, colliding with Sam's shoulder, knocking him far over into a tree. The werewolf then grabbed an unsuspecting Dean by the shoulders and threw him over his head. Dean spiraled a few times before landing with a loud grunt on his front.

The werewolf howled with fury, flexing out its claws, admiring its prey.

Dean rolled over and his eyes widened. "Sam, your gun!"

Sam groaned sitting up. He saw the werewolf rapidly approaching Dean, who began to crawl backwards. He reached behind his back to retrieve his weapon. It wasn't there. Alarmed, he patted his jacket and jean pockets, but still his gun was nowhere to be found.

The moon revolved to a spot, illuminating the patch of woods. Sam could see a little easier. The creature was mere feet away from making Dean into mincemeat. He got to his feet and immediately tackled the beast. Angry, the werewolf snarled hopping up. It grabbed Sam by the lapels of his jacket and tossed him again. Dean tried to get up in the time his brother distracted the fiend. But suddenly the werewolf launched in the air, landing on Dean's chest, pinning down his shoulders.

Dean coughed as the beast's massive weight nearly caved in his chest, expunging all air from his lungs.

The werewolf smiled maliciously exposing its meaty chunk-filled teeth. It sunk its claws into Dean's shoulder, securing him in place. Dean cried out in pain when he felt the pinprick of the nails slice his skin. The werewolf lowered its face, heading for Dean's throat, salivating at the pumping action of his jugular.

Sam rolled over and saw the beast on top of his brother. A gut-wrenching fear filled his heart and he threw out his arm. "NOOOOO…"

The werewolf's electric blue eyes suddenly widened. It gasped and abruptly sat up, clutching its chest. Dean's brow furrowed in confusion. He glanced at Sam and saw his hand extended for a brief second before lowering it. The werewolf coughed and gasped, the veins among its head bulging to three times their normal size, threatening to burst. Then it fell over on its side, dead.

Sam was stunned. It died. Just like that. Intrigued, yet cautious, he quickly got to his feet and strolled over. Dean gradually lifted himself up, giving Sam a peculiar look. Sam returned the puzzled look, peering down at the werewolf as it slowly began transforming back to human.

Little did the boys realize that a miracle had happened. Yet, they would never expect that something natural would happen to a supernatural creature. Due to the poor choice in victims with high cholesterol intake, and his own unhealthy habits in his life, his excitement for his next kill put the werewolf's blood pressure into hyperactive, effectively breaking off a piece of plaque built up in his arteries. Ultimately, it created a clog, and the poor beast died of a heart attack.

The boys continued to gaze at the man in interest. They had no explanation of what killed it, but Dean developed a strange feeling.

"Come on, let's go," said Sam walking away, completely unaware of his brother's glare at his retreating back.

* * *

The motel was a lovely sight. Decrepit, and in much need of repair and heating, but in Sam's eyes, it was a little peice of heaven. Sam stumbled through the creaky door, exhausted after the hunt, tossing his backpack haphazardly over onto the far-side bed. He was still pensive, still curious about what just transpired. He slumped down on his bed thinking of the possible scenarios that could've led to the werewolf's demise, raising his foot on one knee and lengthening the strings off his boot. Dean walked in a minute later fumbling with his keys, leaving the door open. An icy breeze blew through, stinging his face.

"Dean, you left the door open."

Dean gave him a scornful look. He replied with, "Why don't you tap into that bag of mind tricks again and close it. That oughta do it."

Sam looked up, surprised. "What?"

"You heard me."

His answer had that low, venemous tone he'd adopt when he was really, really pissed off. It took Sam by surprise. He knew Dean was quiet throughout the return trip home, but he hadn't surmised he was simmering about something. Sam stopped taking his boot off and stood up. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know exactly what that means."

"What the hell is wrong with you? Did you eat a bad burger again?"

Dean became cocky. "I'm shocked you don't know, Mr. Mind-Reader and all. I've got twenty to bet that's the next new trick you come up with."

"Enough with the attitude!" Sam half-shouted, his temper besting him. "You juiced or something? Are you going to tell me what's the matter with you, or am I gonna have to beat it out of you?"

Dean's eyes narrowed. "You used it again, didn't you? Didn't I say you have to stop?"

"Used what? What are you on about?"

"Don't play dumb. I saw your hand out, right as that thing died."

"Whoa, that's what has you so pissed off? You think I used my Jedi mind powers to off the bastard? Dude! This paranoia has got to stop! Every time there's something you can't explain, that's the first conclusion you jump to!"

"So you didn't send out some unintentional juice and fry the guy? Cuz it sure looked like it to me."

Sam squared his shoulders. "No."

"Don't lie to me Sam," Dean demanded angrily.

"I'm not," Sam shouted back.

"How is it that I don't believe you right now?"

"Because you're erratic, senseless, delusional, and sometimes have a propensity for jumping on the high wire without any intention of coming back down. Especially when Jack Daniels is involved! You're so afraid now, it's ridiculous. I don't even know who you are anymore." He was breathing quite heavily. This last spiel came out all in one steady stream of derisive word vomit, and it actually felt rather relieving.

Dean appeared stone-like. The very look he would have when he was both hurt, and angry. "Well, last I checked that's a double-sided mirror. We start hunting again and the first thing that's made crystal clear to me is my brother has become the very thing we live to hunt. Talk about an eye-opener? Who knows what type of verbal garbage that skanky black-eyed bitch told you. And the worst part is, you were stupid enough to believe her."

Sam clenched his jaw, his nostrils flaring. "Shut up. I told you, I did what I did because I felt it was the best way possible at the time. And yeah, I put my trust in a demon. She has saved my ass more times than I care to count these last five months. That's more than what I can say for you after you came back. Everywhere I turn, you have a nice little siesta with Jim, Jack, and Jose. Not exactly ideal on a hunt."

Dean shrugged. "Just a little something to handle riding with you again. Not sure when you're going to hop on the crazy train and send bolts of lightning down, or with just one wave of a finger, destroy an entire city, or kill people just by thinking it..."

Sam paused, realizing the meaning of that last statement. "Is that what I am to you? A rogue X-men character? A sleeper cell that can attack at anytime, anywhere. And you're just there to keep an eye on me. Ready to euthanize me the second I go darkside. Is that it?" At his brother's failure to respond, he laughed. But it wasn't a hearty chuckle of relief; more like a "oh-what-the-hell, you've-got-to-be-kidding-me?" cackle of disbelief. "Wow, this is so much more screwed up than I thought."

"What did you think? Of course, I'm keeping an eye on you. It's not just you I'm worried about. I told you Sammy, anymore, and Cass won't have any issue in coming down and smiting your ass. Just one object levitating in this room. That's all it takes. You told me you would stop. Hell, you also told me all you can do is just exorcise demons-"

"AND THAT'S ALL I CAN DO!" This argument was beginning to strike a nerve. "Get that through your pompous head. Demons, okay? I use my powers-at-be to kill demons. I haven't killed anybody. Nor do I want to kill anybody. But-" he paused, huffing. "You know I knew this was a mistake. I knew you wouldn't understand."

Dean huffed. "What's to understand Sammy? You went down the wrong path, and I don't have any faith whatsoever of you coming back. I thought I could, but after tonight, the slope is just too damn slippery. I can't believe I went to Hell for this..."

"Excuse me? You're not pulling the empathy card. It won't work. What _you_ see is that if you were still here and had never gone to Hell, you would be big brother and keep me locked up, nice and tight. Keep me away from anything that might _trigger_ something. Is that what you were doing before you got ripped to shreds? Is that what you had Bobby do? All of this was just to force me from becoming one day what you always thought I would be."

There was that stone-like expression again. Then he licked his lips: a classic Dean mannerism that proved Sam right. And then he said the clencher, "Yeah. 'Fraid so. I promised Dad..."

"You promised Dad to kill me if things went sour. Are we at that point Dean?"

"You tell me Sam."

Sam's jaw clenched. "No, no we're not. But your face says it all that you're not sure. It doesn't matter what I do from here on out. You'll always be unsure, and that's why you're angry. You can't trust yourself either."

Now it was Dean's turn to square his shoulders. "Again with that two-way street. Trust? How exactly am I supposed to trust you? I come back and you're doing the exact thing you told me you wouldn't do. And now that I found out you lied…"

"And I told you the reason why. It's for reasons like this," Sam explained vehemently.

"Yeah, and you also told me never again. You said it was like playing with fire. Those were your words. And the more you're enticed to do so, the more likely you're going to use them. I told you if I can't save you Sammy…" he paused, not knowing what else to say. "What am I supposed to do? Kill you? Is that what you want? Cuz the path you're going down is exactly where it is going to lead up. You're going to be on the other side of the gun."

"And I keep trying to tell you I won't let it go that far, and I haven't. You know, I've had enough," Sam shook his hands erratically beside his head. He shook his head. "Things were so much better without you."

Dean looked up.

"That's right, you heard me," Sam continued angrily. He was indifferent to all what was said from now on. He had no control. "You think now that you're back that I'm just going to bow down to you, ol' glorious leader…like you're the boss of everything. You can't handle that I was alone for a while, taking care of myself. You can't stand it that I don't need you anymore. I can do things on my own without big brother hovering over my back…"

"Sam, shut up."

"No, you shut up," Sam interjected fiercely. "You know, now that I'm starting to think about it, I'm really starting to appreciate the time when you were gone. I was on my own, doing whatever I wanted to without seeking you for approval. I was saving people without you looking at me like I was some kind of freak. And you know what else, it felt good."

Dean huffed, obviously disappointed that the argument turned a full 180 degrees. This was not how he imagined the argument would lead, but now it was clear what the brothers were secretly keeping to themselves. He never realized it was this harsh. "Is that really how you feel?"

"Yeah," answered Sam. Sure, it was a lie, but in that moment he wanted to cause his brother as much pain as Dean had caused him. Sometimes words can cut deeper than actions and this was one of those circumstances.

"Fine. Be your own boss, Sam," Dean said softly. "Do it on your own. I quit," he remarked bending down to retrieve his forest-green duffel bag that he conveniently forgot to unpack when they had checked in.

Sam stomped his foot. "You can't quit. I QUIT," he screeched, unintentionally releasing an insurmountable wave of energy. At that moment, the door suddenly slammed shut with a loud 'bang'. Both brothers stood frozen to the spot, unsure of what just happened. Sam couldn't explain where the wave of energy he unleashed came from, but he instantly knew from the distraught look on Dean's face, that he just screwed up, lost Dean's trust without the promise of ever gaining it back.

"And that, Sam, is the reason why the two of us, it won't work." Dean said solemnly.

Sam's mouth opened and closed, no words forming. "Dean, I…Dean, I didn't…" Sam managed to say, but it came out like he was an innocent child.

His stutters fell on mute ears as Dean tossed his duffel over his shoulder, exiting, slamming the door shut.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam jumped a little at the sound of the door slamming shut. A moment later, he heard the sound of the Impala's engine rev up and speed away. It was like a dam broke. Needing to smash something, he rushed over to the lamp on the nightstand and swiped it off. The porcelain vase shattered with a loud **crash** scattering its remnants across the carpeted floor.

The pent-up inner turmoil that accumulated over the months suddenly unleashed, and in a rage, he destroyed his room, releasing a long roar of frustration. Both beds were upturned, the mattresses ping-ponging against the wall and floor. The dresser was next to fly. It landed on its side, the drawers spilling out on the floor. He punctured a hole into the drywall.

_It wasn't fair_. This was not his fault. He was a victim in all this, left to be tormented by the curse Azazel bestowed upon him. Where was his justice? Before he was born, he was condemned. Now he understood his mother's apology back in Lawrence loud and clear.

He crossed over to where the dresser once sat and stood in front of the mirror suspended on the wall, observing the threatening-to-spill tears and blood-shot eyes. Cringing in disappointment, in abhorrence at his reflection, he slammed his fist into the mirror. Splintering cracks etched out from point of impact traveling to the edges of the mirror. He slammed his fist into it again and the entire reflector exploded, showering its pieces over him and the carpet.

His life sucked. He had no control over anything, he thought. Someone or something always had to have an influence over his life: his father for forcing him to move all over the country, seeking and destroying evil beings; the yellow-eyed demon for nursing him demon blood and bestowing upon him a dark destiny, which would probably end in nothing but blood and pain; and his brother, for viewing him as nothing but a target to spy on. Why him? Why did he have to deal with this? Why does he have to pay the price?

The reading table caddied in the far corner of the room was next on his hit list. He lifted it up and brought it down with such force, the front legs snapped off. He brought it down several more times until the flat frame split in two, and then chucked it over to the other corner. He looked around for something else to destroy. There was nothing left. Every bit of square inch was demolished. Even he was amazed at his prowess for destruction. He slunk down the wall and curled up into a ball. A wave of distraught smashed into him like a tidal wave and he wept.

He wept for a long time, angry with himself for allowing his emotions to affect him, for being selfish; angry with his brother for giving up on him when he needed him the most; and angry at the world whom seemingly viewed him as expendable. He remained in his ball for hours pondering over what had become of him, trying to reason over everything.

Dean was dead, roasting on a spit. When he was gone, he had no one. He was alone to survive his own personal hell and it was terrible. All reason led him to believe in that he didn't have a choice in surrendering to his powers. If he was going to survive this hell; if he was going to avenge Dean; if he was going to help put a stop to this wretched madness...

He sighed. These powers...helped him survive. These powers originally saved him from Lilith. Yes, it was treading into dangerous turf, and surely would have accumulated once out of dormancy. The thrall becoming too intense for him to resist, perhaps, allowing no choice but to use them.

It was a terrible reason, but he could think of none other. How was it that Dean couldn't be on his side? Although he hadn't used his powers that night, was this how it was always going to be? Dean instantly assuming that he used them after every little unexplained thing? He used them to save people! It was already a knife to the gut to learn that the angels, the beings he prayed existed, he prayed would confirm his salvation, viewed him as a threat and would more than likely opt to exterminate him than save him. Now to hear what Dean really felt about him, how he regretted making the deal was like twisting the knife and embedding it deeper.

Sam lowered his head on his knees. He didn't want to lose Dean. Dean was like the glue that kept him together, kept him motivated. He was terrified in that after just getting his brother back, he might have lost him again due to something he had no control over. He prayed that Dean didn't mean what he said, and that the argument was all just out of simple misinterpretation and tiredness. Yes. That was it. He would soon realize that and come back. He just needed some time alone and he would be back.

Content with that notion, Sam looked up and frowned. The room was beyond destroyed. It resembled more of an aftermath of a category five tornado. If Dean were to return, he probably wouldn't appreciate the room as it was. So Sam got up, rubbed away the threatening tears and set to work.

He spent the rest of the night cleaning up the room. There wasn't anything he could do to fix the mirror and the lampshade, or the table; he would just have to pay for those.

Dawn rolled around and Dean was still absent. Sam calmly told himself that he was still at a bar somewhere, probably drunk, or with female company. Soon he'll waltz in, flop on the bed half-asleep, offer some lame excuse, and they would forgive each other. It's happened last christmas and the year before. Sam took a deep breath and decided to take a shower and have some much needed sleep. When he woke up, Dean will be here. And they would just carry on with their lives like the argument never happened. He wasn't entirely convinced of this notion, but it was all he had to hold to.

* * *

The pestering sound of something clicking stirred Sam from his slumber. He awoke to darkness. His watch read 7:38...at night! He turned towards his brother's bed and his heart deflated. The bed was empty, still pressed evenly the way he made it.

Maybe he still was adjusting?

Or... maybe Dean was in trouble? The man did have a knack going into a hunt half-cocked when pissed.

Sam immediately launched from the bed and grabbed his cell phone, rapidly punching in his brother's speed-dial key. The phone rang several times before going straight to voicemail. Panic blossomed in Sam's gut and he dialed it a couple more times. When he thought that his brother was in trouble and was about to collect his bag, the other end picked up.

"Stop calling me," he heard Dean's hoarse voice yell and then the line went silent.

Sam stood frozen, the phone still attached to his ear. Then slowly he lowered it and shut it off chucking it on the bed. He slumped down back on the bed disappointed. He felt the knife slide in deeper. His brother wasn't coming back. He was alone all over again. The glue was slowly becoming undone.

An hour later, the howl of a coyote somewhere far off in the distance snapped Sam out of his trance. He gazed dangerously out the window. A fiery spark of hate sprouted.

_Fine! If that's how it's going to be. Let him go. I'll be fine on my own. I got through the first four months alone, I can do it again. If the angels have a problem with that, then let them smite me. Let them carry out the inevitable task._

Sam picked up his satchel and pulled out his computer, intent on finding the next hunt.

After several hours of searching, he finally came up with something far west in Colorado where there were several reports of maulings by an unknown animal over the course of a few weeks. Though the animal was expected to be a grizzly or a mountain lion, it was intriguing in that the animal was never found. The forensics team offered no valid explanation, and the Game Warden was just as confused. Clearly something was off, something possibly supernatural.

Feeling elated in that he found another hunt, he packed up his computer and duffel and headed out into the cool night air. _Dean be damned!_

A large green Ford truck sat alone on the back corner of the motel. If Sam didn't do a double take and figured out it was a truck, he would have mistaken it for a rusty wagon. He strolled over to it and peered inside the passenger window. The interior looked like it was in working condition, despite its shabby exterior. He looked around to see if anyone was watching before crossing over to the driver's side. Surprisingly, the door was unlocked and the keys were in the ignition. _Luck was on his side…for once!_ He turned the archaic vehicle on and sped out into the night.

* * *

Dean wasn't quite sure how long it had been since he slammed the door. In fact, he wasn't quite sure how long it had been since he'd been at this bar. He sat at the bartop, enshrouded in a cloud of smoke, sitting beside a couple of hookers with breath so bad, the cryptkeeper would be crawling in his grave. He peered down dejectedly at the glass of whiskey he currently held in his hand. It hadn't done the job yet. Tequila was next. The goal: guzzle down anything potent enough to give him one, a hell of a hangover, and two, temporary amnesia. .

The argument that transpired several hours ago waded on murky water with nothing powerful to clear it. What were those words that came out of his mouth? They seemed so foreign. He didn't mean them, not one. But he was so angry...No, he was so scared; scared that if Sam used the infamous powers that he had feared since he first learned of their presence, he might lose him again.

Yes, he was selfish. He knew that. Sam knew that. Hell, everyone in Hell knew that. And he couldn't possibly go through that torture of fighting alone again. It was too painful.

The angel's meant every part of their threat. And it pained him further to know that if he couldn't stop Sam, they would. No doubt there was an underlining in Castiel's tone signifying an eminent thirst to smite Sam right away. They only need a reason to do so. So far Sam hasn't given them one. But soon, if his brother carried on with the way he had, it could happen within seconds.

No, he couldn't have that. He just got him back. Why couldn't Sam understand that? There are other ways of fighting monsters. They've only done it their entire lives.

He took another sip of the whiskey from his glass. The image of the angel burning Sam to a crisp was plain as day. He scrunched his eyes shut, hoping another image would take its place.

He took another long drawl from the glass. How could he get to the kid? He had no idea what had happened to his brother. That was evident since Sam feels the need to take on several demons at once. He really has changed.

This was a battle in the making, an inevitable Moses versus Ramses with no hope for a safe and lucky passage to a mystic land full of milk and honey. Psshh. Why does everything, every road, every turn they took in their life looked so bleak? Why did every decision they made always result in inching further off an abysmal cliff?

Those thoughts wormed and wiggled inside his head for hours without a reprieve. He gave up on the bartender pouring in little liquid glass after glass. Instead, he just demanded the bottle. It was better drowning his sorrows in liquor than pondering his calamity.

The _clunk_ of pool balls brought his half-drunken gaze to the pooltable stationed in the back of the bar. The two stocky players with beards so long and white - they reminded Dean of two flannel-dressed Santa Clauses- moved around the table sluggishly, strategizing their next pinpoint. The Santa on the left bent down, his beard bunching on the green velvet, took aim and shot the red number eight ball, which slammed into the green number eight ball, propelling it into the far left socket.

"Good shot Lil," his partner congratulated him in a gruff voice.

"Thanks," Lil responded in an equally gruff voice.

_Lil, what a name?_ Dean thought. Then the name shot a sudden reminder through his muddled mind like a bolt of lightning, the name reminding him of a particular foe. _Lilith._ The demon bitch that primarily is responsible for this whole charade. His eyes narrowed at the dented mahogany bartop, making the bartender opposite of him slightly nervous. His lips curled into a snarl the more he thought about that vicious night, the night the hellhound came to collect his damned soul. He remembered the pain. He could still feel it.

His negative feelings towards the demon increased ten-fold the more he thought about her. One: she killed him, two: she nearly killed Sam and invoked his powers so to speak, and three: she's bringing about the apocalypse.

But then again he might have to thank her, because if she hadn't began breaking open the seals that would eventually lead to Lucifer being released on Earth with Hell tagging not far behind, the angels would not have released him from the underground volcanic oven and reunite him with his family.

_Now…it's_ apparent that it's his God-anointed job to prevent the apocalypse from happening. The demon had to be taken down...and he figured there was no better time than the present. Bound and determined to do just that -even if it was the alcohol talking- he emptied his bottle and slammed it down on the counter.

He stood up and paused, realizing he never went on a hunt this big without his brother. Maybe if he could talk to him, reason with him a bit, maybe he can have him tag along. He grabbed his favorite leather jacket. But before he could put it on, his glorious mind had other plans in replaying the argument over again, and then he realized he couldn't take Sam. If he had, things could go sour and Sam might have to use his powers again and that would give the angels more reason to carry out their threat. He couldn't do that. He would have to keep Sam away just for that reason. He didn't like that idea one bit. But what decision in the past was he ever completely satisfied with its results? G_uess hunting down the bitch is a one-man job after all._

He was about to leave out the door when a few words of someone's conversation caused him to freeze in his tracks.

"Jones was torn inside out. Of course, she's the one behind all of this. Even Jeff said so. Do you have the lead or not? Why are you talking to me fool? I know I'm right. What other demon could have unleashed the witnesses? It ain't St. Nick."

Glancing out of the corner of his eye, he saw the voice belonged to a black man dressed in a green denim jacket seated in a booth with his back turned, whispering angrily into a cell phone. He continued to stand listening in on the conversation knowing that the man was indeed talking about dear demon _Lilith._

"Yeah, you moron. The hermit has left his shell. Kinda had to if you get my meaning. Signs all over. If she's close, we have to do this smart or not at all," the man chanted fiercely. "Yeah I know, but how in the hell are we gonna track her down? She's like a black box on a checkerboard. Could be inhabiting anybody."

Believing this was his chance to actually gain some backup without Sam involved, Dean approached the table instantly recognizing the speaker as the rude hermit Rufus. "Lilith right?"

The black man stared wide-eyed at his visitor. "Call ya back," he said into his phone before clasping it shut. He slumped back in his seat totally calm with an interested look. "Dean Winchester. Last I hears of you, you was Alpo."

Dean smirked. "Nah, more like Pedigree."

Rufus smiled un-nervingly, tapping the phone against the table-top. Without warning, he launched from the booth brandishing an iron knife. Dean quickly used his reflexes and dodged the swift strokes. Apparently the old man's agility was nothing compared to the younger hunter's.

"I'm not a demon, ghost, shape-shifter, or a ghoul," Dean said quickly.

"Sure," Rufus replied disbelievingly swinging out a fist.

Dean caught the fist in his palm. "Let me prove it to you."

Rufus dropped the knife and backed off at his statement. Dean took a breath readjusting his jacket. He looked around and caught the bar in silence and the entire crowd watching. He let out a laugh. "Owe him money," he offered. "Carry on." Then the crowd went back to its bustling activity.

Dean turned back to Rufus who breathed heavily, cautious of Dean. "Ya got any holy water?"

"No," Rufus replied breathless. "But how would I know if you're not some top-notch demon that holy water would feel like it's just a hot spa?"

Dean shrugged. "You're right, you don't. But an exorcism shouldn't hurt."

"I don't know one."

"A bit rusty there, huh? You're a hunter. Get the book out. I'm sure you've got one."

Rufus suddenly appeared as though he'd just shown up at a standardized test unprepared. He then gave Dean a calloused look and then started to laugh. "I've got another idea, another test."

"Okay."

"The day you showed up at my house. Who told you where I lived?"

"Bobby Singer," Dean answered immediately.

"Lucky guess," the hunter replied sourly.

"Oddly enough it's not."

"How do I know you're not a shapeshifter?"

Dean gave a long annoyed sigh. "Here we go again. Ya got any silver?" he asked annoyed, wondering if he would have to repeat the tests he demonstrated at Bobby's a couple months ago with everyone he met.

"No."

"Boy, you're really on top of things, aren't you?"

"Whatever."

"Good God, I could really go for some Johnny Walker Blue right now."

Rufus's face lit up with a broad smile. "Well, why didn't you say so Dean?"

"Huh?"

Rufus turned back towards his booth and sat back down and reached into his leather bag, pulling out a large black and white labeled bottle. Dean stood in front of the booth dumbfounded by the sudden vicissitude. Rufus offered the other seat, which he took willingly. The wizened hunter then retrieved two eight-ounce dirt-infested glasses from his bag and began filling the glasses halfway. "That was all I was waiting for," the man replied, catching the look on Dean's face.

"No demon would've known what we were drinking that day."

"Oh," Dean shrugged at the grimy glass and downed it in one go, cringing as the golden liquid burned its way down his esophagus.

Rufus poured him another. "So…what do you know about our demon in question?"

Dean gave a smug look. "About yay high"-he raised his hand level with the table-"monster sweet tooth, and a small habit of filleting people."

Rufus nodded downing his glass.

"Yeah, she's on my hit list too."

Rufus's glass slammed onto the table with a loud _clink._ "So…Winchester. It's been awhile, what with you asking about Miss Talbott and all."

"Oh yeah, Bela. The ear right?"

"Yes…the ear," the man said eerily. "Speaking of which, I heard that brother of yours has caused some trouble in the demon community, and as far as I can tell, the hunters too."

Dean jerked involuntarily when he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. "Really?" He refused to answer it knowing it was probably the person they were speaking about.

"Why, you haven't heard? He's been taking out a lot of demons lately, some in large numbers at a time. Wonder how that is?" he donned a peculiar expression.

Dean drowned his mouth in the nasty liquid once more. Grimacing, he said, "Couldn't tell ya. Been gone awhile."

"Yeah, how is that by the way? No one I've heard of manage to pull a stunt like that? S'gotta be...unnatural."

It was clear as day this was another test. Dean felt his phone vibrate against his leg again. "It wasn't all that unnatural for Jesus. He did it in three days."

"Ah yes...Jesus," Rufus poured himself another glass.

Dean leaned forward, his somewhat blood-shot eyes focusing on the hunter. "Tell you what. Let's drop the whole resurrection issue. We'll let President Grant" -he pulled out a fifty dollar bill and laid it on the table -"do the talking."

The man seemed interested. "To be honest, I'd much rather have Ben Franklin and his twin brother handle the negotiation."

Dean's eye twitched. The man played one hell of a bargain. "Fine." He laid two hundred dollar bills on the table. "Now that we're besties, I've got a proposition. If I tell you what I know, how 'bout you tag along and we hunt the bitch down together. I'll even throw in a truckload of J.W.B. just for kicks."

"That's quite an offer, one that is very enticing…" He pondered mockingly, tapping his finger against his chin. "You've left me in quite a predicament Dean. The demon is top-notch. And it's definitely a two-man team. How do I know you're worth it?"

Dean laid another Benjamin on the table.

"Wecome to the team." The man clamored with feigned excitement. "Let's got get the bitch."

"Okay," Dean agreed, ready to leave.

"But wait? First I need to know what all you know."

"What I know about Lillith?"

"Yeah."

The phone vibrated once more. "Okay. Reader Digest version then... I have a vendetta. She sicced her puppy on me and tore me to shreds, whereby afterwards started breaking seals and is about to bring on the apocalypse. So yes, it's a little personal. Why are you after her?"

"She killed my mail man."

"Fun…" Dean surrendered knowing that was all he was going to get out of him. The phone rang once again. Irritated, Dean pulled out his phone. "One sec. Stop calling me," he half-shouted into the phone before closing it shut.

Rufus lifted a thick eyebrow. "Clingy one-nighter?"

"Nope," he stowed the phone back into his pocket, "Worse. My brother."

"Oh. Last I checked you guys were partners, couldn't keep apart."

"Well, we were until last night," Dean peered at his glass not willing to talk about his brother.

"Bad fight?"

"To say the least."

"Over what?"

"Underwear," Dean retorted, "It doesn't matter."

"Okay, okay," Rufus put his hands up meaning no harm. "Alright now Lilith. Tough one to find."

Dean snorted. "Unless you have an indestructable demon GPS."

"What's that mean?"

"I can find her for ya. Just need to get my hands on a silver crystal and a map."

"You think you can find her?" Rufus questioned disbelievingly, "About ten or so hunters have been on the lookout and she keeps getting by us. What makes you think you're so dandy?"

"I have my sources."

"Is that so? Shall we put those sources to the test? This ain't gonna be a cakewalk."

"Never agreed more." Dean nodded in agreement and together they set out in the cool night air.


	3. Chapter 3

_Five Days Later:_

Sam pulled the rusty bucket with wheels up into a clearing of trees. He checked his coordinates on his trusty GPS gadget, relieved it read the location for **Getterson's Woods.** Switching off the engine, he stuffed the GPS into a backpack, along with a couple maps he pulled from the glove compartment and a flare gun. There was an extra gun he kept inside the compartment to be safe.

He took a deep breath and proceeded out of the truck, skirting around to the back to retrieve the .22 caliber rifle he collected from his dad's storage unit in Buffalo from under the toolbox. He checked to see if it was loaded. Ready, he began his long trek through the woods.

He must have been trekking twenty minutes or so when he felt, well, for the lack of a better word, lost. Sam took out a short pile of research papers from the book-bag and scanned through them thoroughly again. They read:

_On last Tuesday, several reports of mauled victims, presumably a few of the hikers that were reported missing on the 25__th__ and the ones reported lost on the 30__th__, were found in a small patch of Getterson's Woods. Authorities have combed the area and have been unable to find a trace of the supposed assailant. They, along with Forensic Analysts have been called in from around the country, and still have been unable to produce any legitimate results. Some theories suggest a wild animal mauled the hikers. _

"_The evidence in the lab suggests a wild animal, possibly grizzly bear, possibly mountain lion. The marks left on the victims remaining parts seemed to have been gnawed on and left in little slabs. Might possibly the victim was alive during the process," Mike Terrosol, Medical Examiner of the Loutonville Federal Office said in a statement made to the press._

"_It doesn't make sense. There is no other evidence, despite gunfire made for presumably defense that suggests this was 'no other than' animal attack. But we've searched the area high and low around a ten-mile radius and found no grizzly bears, mountain lions, or any other large beast. We've checked cave openings, dens, large and small, and still no trace of any creature large enough to make those attacks," Stephan Godfrey, Warden of the Department of Game and Fish stated Saturday._

_Speculation still exists about the incident. Authorities have now closed off a five-mile section of the woods omitted to any and all civilians, unless granted special permission. _

_All parts of Getterson's woods are to be suspended to all Fish and Game clubs and units until further notice._

Sam read through them again and checked the coordinates he scribbled down. He folded the report closed and then opened his map. From the descriptions of the bodies, it could be a Wendigo or a Chupacabra responsible for the attacks. The little voice in the back of his head pleaded with him to turn back, to go get backup. But his sheer determination to prove he could hunt this thing without needed help undermined all sense. He traced the red markings on the map he drew out with his finger and he figured he had to be somewhere within them. He took out his GPS and decided to follow the North direction. Eventually, he told himself, he would find the area.

Luckily, his intuition was right when he stumbled among various caution tapes formed in circles situated around a small perimeter. Somewhat relieved, Sam stowed his map back into his pack and walked towards the closest forensic scene. Red and yellow flags were still implanted in the ground, along with measurement tapes barely visible through the ground cover.

Sam crossed underneath the caution tape and knelt down by one of the red flags. Weather erosion obscured the scene, causing him to swipe away about an inch worth of detritus and foliage cover. He wasn't quite sure what he was looking for, but he knew he had to find anything that indicated what he was hunting.

Though most of the ground cover was extremely dense, he managed to find traces of blood left behind the closer he clawed through to the bare dirt. That, however, he found to be useless. He kept digging finally uncovering a small patch revealing several engraved lines or markings of what looked like a scuffle. He didn't think the authorities would have been able to distinguish them. But through his trained eyes, he could clearly see that some marks were made by that of fingernails -possibly the victim trying to escape its captor, and the other marks, though difficult, looked more like paw imprints.

He swept away more of the leaves and dirt that covered the striations. The pattern was more distinct now. The same tracks left by the victim now appeared as though the victim fell and tried to scramble away. The other tracks that he saw left confused him a bit. They appeared as though it was coming from one animal with six clear indentations deep in the clay on one set of prints; the other, however, looked like it had a set of five claw prints. He read that the claw-marks strode up to its prey slowly, probably pouncing on it.

Now he was no zoologist, but he had never heard of any kind of animal, cat-like, bear-like, or any that had six claws on one paw and five on the other. Were they coming from two different animals? Was he facing a pack of ravenous beasts?

No, the attacks all happened at different times, but also they were in the same area. He was becoming more confused and uneasy by the minute. Maybe if it were a pack, then somewhere around here has to be their den or slumber chamber? That thought didn't help his nervousness one bit.

He went to the other sites and performed the same procedure. Though the other sites were slightly different, the claw marks he concluded were from the same animal. From the reports, he read that hardly anything was left of the remains. It must have been one hungry animal, definitely not a Wendigo or a Chupacabra.

His instincts suddenly began to tell him to leave, that he needed to come back with backup and more than just a rifle. He stood up ready to leave, deciding to go with his logic...when there was a loud crack somewhere off to the right of him. He spun around, staring straight ahead.

* * *

"Hmmm hymph, uh huh…yes Bobby I got em' and you're sure those are the words?" Dean asked roughly into the cell phone, then immediately pulled the phone from his ear as his mentor began chewing him out. He replaced it once the voice on the receiver lowered its volume. "Ya done?"

"Don't take that tone with me boy. I've been bustin' my ass lately," Bobby's scowling voice echoed from the receiver.

Dean rolled his eyes, "Okay, okay. I'm sorry for rufflin' up your feathers, but I'm kinda in a hurry here."

"Sounds like it. Who're ya huntin' anyway?"

"The abominable snowman," Dean replied sarcastically.

"Dean, my patience is starting to wear thin," Bobby growled. "Where did this attitude come from?"

Dean huffed. "Nowhere. I'm just…I've had a lot on my mind lately."

"Alright, but don't get pig-headed. Go cool off before you take on this hunt. Sam might not like it if your head got in the way and ya both end up on the slop end."

Dean bit his lip at the mention of Sam's name. He failed to mention the fight that happened with them and their current separation. With that in mind, he didn't even bother to bring up Rufus.

"Yeah, sure thing."

"Speaking of which, I haven't heard from your idgit brother in a while. Why isn't he helping you? He should definitely know about the ritual."

Dean cringed. "Yeah, well, Sam…uh…Sam's come down with a nasty bug," he lied.

"A bug? Like a body-snatching bug? Or the other one that makes you puke?"

"The puking one. Yeah, dude's been spewing all over the place. Can't get out of bed," Dean laughed nervously. He pinched the bridge of his nose hating the fact he was lying again. This was _sooo_ going to make a 360 and bite him in the ass.

"Okay, well I hope he feels better. Is that why you're huntin' this thing on yer own?"

"Yep."

"Well, hopefully it's nuthin' big, cuz you need your brother."

Dean's scoffed, slightly offended. "Not all the time."

"Sure you do. You two are like a peanut butter jelly sandwich. Without each other you're gross."

Dean's face contorted. _He compared us to a sandwich_. _Hmmm, sandwich, that reminds me, Rufus better hurry up with the damn food._ "Yeah, a sandwich."

"Well, you know…anyway, call me back when you got a lead on whoever you're huntin'."

"Okay, thanks Bobby." Dean shut the flap on his phone.

At that moment, Rufus decided to grace his presence by barging through the cabin door, carrying in a plastic foodmart bag full of snacks.

"Was that Singer?" asked the old hunter, plopping the bag down on the rickety table.

"Yeah, I got the GPS passage we needed."

"Good. Did you tell him what we're up to?"

"No," Dean answered nonchalantly. "If I had, I'd be on the sore end of a long and mindless lecture about suicidal missions till I die…which, now that I think about it, it's sort of what we're doing. Besides, if Sam ever got word of this, I'd never hear the end of it."

"So you don't want him around?" Rufus asked curiously.

"Not for something this big, no."

"Hmmm, fair enough."

"Did you get the tripod?"

Rufus gave him a sour look. "Yes master, it's in my truck."

"Alright, sooner we eat, the sooner we can get the show on the road," Dean urged standing up from the chair he sat in and reaching into the bag. "Did you get the pie?"

Rufus gave him a degrading stare.

Feeling a bit childish under the old man's scrutiny, Dean hunkered away grabbing his food, mumbling under his breath, "Sammy always got the pie."

"What was that boy?"

"Nothing," Dean replied indulging into his snack.

* * *

Outside among the various herds of animals and withering groves of trees grew an unsettling silence that threatened to devour the forest whole. A strange mist advanced on the outside of the dilapidated cabin the hunters took shelter in giving the setting a preternatural atmosphere.

The hunters peered at the tripod in front of them positioned on the table with its legs splayed out overtop a huge map that covered the entire U.S. They took their positions adding the odd assortment of herbs and materials needed to track down the demon _Lilith._

Dean set the crystal into its apparatus underneath the tripod's magnifying glass. He began to chant the Latin words Bobby gave to him and both watched with eagerness as the crystal slowly began to rotate, spinning faster the longer Dean chanted. Finally, once he said the last word, the crystal landed on a location.

Impressed, Rufus bent down closer to the map with a bright smile. "Looks like New Ford, Missouri. Wow, ya did good, kid."

"Thanks, now whaddya say we go huntin?" Dean encouraged grabbing his favorite leather jacket off the chair.

"Sure, but one thing though. How exactly do we go offin' a demon like this with just a regular exorcism? I mean, knowing her pay-grade, that'd be just like getting delayed at the security checkout at the airport."

Dean smiled. "Ya got nothin' to worry about," he reached into the back of his pants and pulled out Ruby's knife he surreptitiously stole from Sam. "We're insured."

Rufus gave him a blank stare. "Dean, I'm starting to think if I should start counting how many marbles you've got left in that noggin. How in the hell is a knife going to kill a demon?"

"This ain't no ordinary knife," Dean explained.

"Oh really?"

"Yeah, you've heard of weirder things, haven't you?"

"Yeah, too weird. But this? Never in my life."

"So you agree with me? I rest my case," Dean exclaimed. "I guarantee you this gets her cage rattled."

Rufus appeared unconvinced and finally said, "Kill her however you want, but I'm using my own weapons. No offense, but I'm not putting my life and the world's fate into a pocketknife."

"Fine, whatever," Dean shrugged. "Meet cha' in New Ford."

* * *

The sun was just beginning to dip below the treetops by the time the hunters arrived in New Ford, Missouri. Unsure of where to find their precious prey, they decided to look into the weather reports and search for odd anomalies such as electrical storms, cattle deaths, and crop failures. Soon they found such an occurrence in a small remote suburb on the outskirts of the town. The locals described the area 'gone devilish' and Dean instantly knew it had to be Lilith. Who else would inhabit and terrorize a small grove of houses and have her demon henchmen set a perimeter?

Dean knew all the stops, and luck was on his side, for once, as Ruby's hex bag of assorted ward herbs worked in getting them past the guards. Though it did strike him as odd that they were both capable of slipping past the many houses without being spotted or even sensed. The large white house located in the middle of the circle of homely domiciles stood out from all the rest. Dean knew from seeing all the left out play toys in the front yard, that Lilith had found her new foster victim.

He gave Rufus a stern, yet determined eye suggesting they were probably walking into a trap. The old man nodded to proceed. A suicide mission it was. And it just so happened the world's future rested on their achy shoulders. Careless for his own life, he moved towards the back of the house, quietly breaking into the backdoor with Rufus just a step behind. He took Ruby's knife out and held it steady, ready to strike as he stealthily moved into the kitchen.


	4. Chapter 4

Sam kept very still listening for the crack again. Then somewhere far off, he heard a rustling noise straight ahead. Alarmed, he ducked down under the tape and moved stealthily to a nearby tree, unhooking his rifle from his shoulder. He listened intently, hardly daring to breathe.

_Nothing._

He held his breath for a moment longer squinting into the shadowy surroundings. There was no wind, nor any animals scurrying around. Something had to have caused the noise. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up and he swallowed. He carefully clicked off the safety of his rifle and held it poised.

He stepped out from behind the wide cedar straining his ears one more time, waiting for the dire enemy. Then he heard them: voices. Scores of laughter rang from up over the hill he was facing. He lowered his weapon thankful it was humans.

He wasn't disappointed when two figures, one short, the other tall, dressed in long johns and tatty hunting hats appeared over the hill's crest. Their laughter died when they saw Sam standing with his weapon. They both had long barrel shotguns, but the sight of another weapon forced them to tense with unease. Sam saw the shorter one lean toward the taller one and whisper something, giving him a little smirk.

"Who the hell are you?" the tall one spoke harshly with a thick southern accent.

Sam quickly shouldered his rifle. He was just about to say something when the man cut him off.

"I said something to you, dammit. What are you stupid?" the man asked rudely, spitting out half-chewed tobacco.

Sam narrowed his eyes. He wasn't trespassing on anyone's territory, and after the argument with his brother, he wasn't in the mood for conversing with territorial backyard yuppies.

"Nope. Just doing a follow up," Sam answered cooly.

"No one needin' to do a follow up 'round here. Whatever killed those hikers is long gone by now. You just get. These woods are ours."

"Last I checked they belonged to the state. And I will not just _get_. Right now this area is still known to be dangerous, and apparently too fellas', hunting's not allowed either."

"Oh so we have a smartun'. If that's the case, then why you huntin'?" the shorter one chastised, his accent matching the taller ones.

"Whoever said I was. I'm just lookin' for anything strange around here."

"Nuttin' strange, but you pretty-boy."

"It doesn't matter. You guys need to get out of here. That animal? Who's to say it disappeared?" Sam asked them seriously. Though he disliked these guys from the start, he felt their charming personalities didn't warrant a death sentence.

"We've been 'round here for past couple days and we ain't run into nuthin. So quit yur yappin' and get on out. If that animal does come around, we can handle it," the tall one gloated, patting the shotgun held firmly across his chest.

Sam snorted. "I doubt that. It chewed up three hikers within a five-meter radius in a matter of minutes, one of which actually had a gun. And you think that 1882 12-gauge shotgun is gonna do anything?"

The two sniggered. "We ain't worried 'bout that. We got everything we need here…"

"Yea, kind a like our own secret remedy," the shorter one guffawed.

Sam rolled his eyes. This was getting ridiculous and his patience was already thin. He wanted to just leave these men, but his kind-hearted nature forced him to stay. He huffed. "That's nice guys, but seriously, I saw the reports and the sites. You won't stand a chance. Now, please, can you go? If you want to hunt, fine. But not here."

"Don't you get it? We ain't leavin', so you can hunt to yourself-"

"I assure you that's not why I'm here," Sam cut him off briskly, giving them a stern look.

"Yeah right," the shorter one glared.

Sam looked towards the sky positively annoyed. _God, I'm talking to nothing but mindless drones. Can it get any worse than this?_

The taller one laughed when he saw Sam lift his head. "You know you kinda remind me of a shaggy mutt that I happened to neuter the other day."

"You mean DJ?" the shorter one asked.

"Yeah, doesn't he?" he answered his buddy. "I mean look at that mop on top of his head. Betcha a pair of sheers wouldn't cut through that," he laughed at the vexed expression on Sam's face. He continued.

Sam sighed at the hicks' taunts. He glanced away as they continued their insults about his hair. He really could've cared less. Suddenly, that same loud crack sounded somewhere off to the left of them. It was followed by a band of leaves rustling, crunching, as though something was approaching. The hairs on the back of his neck hailed salute once more, accompanied by an awful chill undulating up and down his spine.

"Uh…guys…"

"And I bet he'd make a great double for cousin It, waddya think?"

"You're frickin' hilarious Den," the shorter man praised. His partner laughed along with him hysterically at his own pathetic joke.

Sam's breathing quickened. He scanned all around, keeping his focus on the noise. Who knows, it might be a squirrel out there...or it might be what he set out to find?

He gulped. "Hey, quiet," he called.

"Ah, look at him now. He's shakin' in his boots, ha…"

A cat-like cry sounded at the same time when the hillbilly spoke, but Sam heard it loud and clear. He spun around when the cat-like growl sounded again behind them. _Damn, it moves fast_. The color drained from his face and now was the time to act accordingly.

"Shut up," Sam told them anxiously.

"What?" the taller one said surprised.

"I said shut up," Sam half-shouted angrily. He cocked his gun once he heard more movement beyond the scope of the trees.

The taller one scowled angrily. "What did you say me, boy?"

Sam huffed. He didn't need this. He needed to concentrate on the menace at hand, but how was that possible with these guys behind him? "You heard me. Shut up if you want to live." He squinted, his eyes searching for any signs of movement.

"Is that a threat, asshole? Ah hell no!"

Sam bobbed his head irritated, and then turned towards them about to reprimand them. "Would you guys shut-"

A gunshot sound, and Sam felt a blinding hot explosion of pain in his abdomen. The impact knocked him off his feet, his backpack and rifle slipping from his grasp. He coughed and cringed, unable to comprehend what had just happened.

He heard the men laughing. Stealing a breathless peek, he saw the tall one aiming his gun with smoke billowing from the barrels. The sharp stabs of pain increased dramatically when he tried to sit up, forcing him to lie back down. He shot him? The bastard shot him? What the hell? God, it hurt! Due to the think fabric of his jacket, the buckshot...or was it buckshot? The materials felt different. They didn't penetrate deeply.

Sucking in a large gulp of mildew air, he rolled over slowly forcing himself to rise onto his feet. Turning around on unsteady legs, facing his assailants, who continued to laugh haughtily, he gasped hunching over when another bout of pain escalated.

The taller one's eyes grew large mocking him. "Ooh, did that hurt wittle' baby? Ha. Yeah, half pound of scrap metal will do that to ya. Outta feel good, don' it?" he said jokingly cocking his gun once more.

Every instinct told him to run. The backpack and rifle lay forgotten as he moved hastily away. One of the yuppies chortled, "Ooh look out," followed immediate by another gunshot. He screamed in agony as he felt hundreds of metal shard pieces pierce the back of his shoulder, causing him to complete a somersault in the air, forcibly landing on his back.

He couldn't help the tremors that began to work their way through the upper end of his body. He continued to writhe on the ground, hoping, praying the pain would dull. Fighting back a cough, a guttural sound of discomfort involuntarily escaped his lips when the pain doubled in his abdomen.

Though he wouldn't admit it, he had never in his life wanted his brother so badly. Dean would've helped him through this mess. Hell, if he weren't so cocky in believing he could fight this hunt alone, he wouldn't be in this situation. Humans? He forgot just how deadly they could be too. Tears sprang to his eyes as he thought of his brother and Bobby. He fought back another cough and failed. Tiny droplets of blood flew out and dotted the bottom of his chin and neck.

Heavy footsteps approached. His vision swam in and out of focus as two dark misshapen figures became closer, growing larger. One of the men placed a foot on top of his neck and pushed down. Sam gasped grasping the man's ankle.

"You know, we ain't never killed a man before. In all my years, I never knew it was this much _satisfyin'_ puttin' down ya mouthy bastards," the man sneered. His partner nodded in agreement adding another round in the barrels.

Sam couldn't believe his luck. It was like he was facing the **Benders** all over again. What is it with crazy ill-educated nutters looking for a better kill? He definitely understood his brother's logic of _people are crazy _all too well now. He wished he could've produced some wise crack like his brother would: go out the Winchester style.

The man pressed harder on Sam's throat cutting off his air supply...and he panicked. He latched his hands around the man's ankle firmly and twisted with all his might, hearing a loud crack. The man howled in pain falling to the ground clutching his ankle screaming out "ya sum bitch".

Sam's victory was temporarily short-lived when the man's angry partner came up and kicked his face. Sam clutched the side of his jaw rolling over. He heard the man come up from behind locking the shotgun in place.

Desperately, Sam kicked out his leg, the heel coming into contact with the man's kneecap. The yuppie yelped jumping back and then knelt down rubbing circles over the sore area. It gave Sam enough time to stand up, ready to fight, despite the terrible agony that seared throughout his upper torso.

The shorter man saw him rise and immediately flew at him wielding his shotgun like a bat. He swung and Sam caught the barrel in his left hand, delivering an undercut to the man's jaw with his right. He grimaced at the strain the punch put on his injured shoulder. The man's hold on his gun loosened and Sam attempted to snatch it out of his grip. But the man figured out the motive before Sam had a chance and tried to steal it back. The two struggled with the weapon, the butt end lowering to the ground. On accident, the man pulled the trigger emptying its chamber, creating a geyser of dirt and moss. The man's eyes widened realizing that he would have to fight his way out of this one with his bare hands.

Sam used the man's sudden delay to his advantage and kicked at the side of his kneecap. The man yelped, falling to his knees where Sam raised his leg, kicking in the man's sternum. He watched the man clutch at his chest and fall back from the impact. He panted heavily as the pain he felt everywhere rolled over his body in waves. He clutched his shoulder, hoping the pressure would help subside the ache. It did nothing.

He turned away, ambling away as fast as he could. But his sole desire to leave left him blind-spotted to the other assailant, who crawled away from the sparring duel and found his .22. The man took aim and fired.

An anguished half-scream, half-cry erupted when he felt a bullet penetrate his lower calf. His body shuddered and he collapsed to the ground. The sticky substance of blood exuded freely from the wound. It was pure agony, to the likes he had never felt before. Where were his powers when he needed them?

"Somebody help me," he whispered painfully through clenched teeth.

A sudden grueling thought entered his mind and he instantly became terrified that he might not make it out of there. The faces of people he loved and cherished flashed before his eyes: Dean, Bobby, Ellen, Jo; people he may never see again. The tears continued to fall as the flitting images of their happy faces became more prominent. He so desperately wanted to see his brother again. He wanted to tell him he never meant anything of what he said. He wanted to tell him the truth, that it was utter agony without him. Hell, he would love to see Lilith one more time if it meant he would not die by the hands of these sadistic bastards.

"Go on Terry. Get him," the tall one with Sam's rifle yelled.

The yuppie sat up and saw his intended victim begin to crawl away. His lips curled with malicious intent and he jumped up.

"Where ya goin'?" he taunted stalking up to Sam. "Come on man, the party's just getting started." He threw a kick into Sam's underbelly. Sam made a primitive cry falling over on his back, clutching his stomach. The hillbilly saw the smears of blood on Sam's abdomen and he laughed placing his foot down on Sam's chest.

Sam had no spit left. He didn't have the strength to pry the man's foot off. All he could think about was the sharp stabs of pain shooting through his body leaving him vulnerable. He gazed intently into his would-be-killer's brazen blue eyes. A terrible cough ripped through his chest area, sending up more spurts of blood, dotting the man's shoe.

"Ugh, you sonuvabitch. Ya dirtied up my shoe. Who's gonna clean that up?" he snarled stepping off Sam. He went over to his partner and snatched up Sam's rifle.

Sam scrunched his eyes closed. The pain was becoming unbearable. He heard the yuppie approach him one more time. He opened his eyes and then wished he never had. The man was standing directly over top of him with his rifle in hand aiming it at his head. The fear of God was suddenly in Sam, and for the first time, he was staring at his own death.


	5. Chapter 5

A hungry growl echoed in the clearing. Sam's eyes slowly blinked open and followed the sound. There perched on a hill to the right of them stood a creature he had never seen before. It had a triangular head and an elongated box-like snout with massive protruding canines. Globs of saliva dripped lazily from its black gums. It had the body of a lion with a pronounced reptilian spine and a bushy tail that swung eagerly from side to side as it gazed at its prey through yellow eyes with black cat-like slits for pupils.

It leapt from the hill, releasing a tiger-like wail, colliding with the hillbilly standing overtop of Sam. Anguished cries replaced the roaring in his ears, along with the sound of flesh being ripped into. He sat up and saw the beast's gigantic front paws pin the struggling man to the ground. It lowered its head and sunk its massive canines into the man's skull. Blood spurted up like a fountain between the monster's teeth while the hillbilly's lower body twitched and convulsed incessantly. The other man screamed his partner's name while frantically trying to crawl backwards. Sam took that time now to run like hell.

He hadn't sprinted a hundred yards when the last blood-curdling scream of his assailant rang, piercing his soul.

He was never so terrified in his life. The shooting pains in his leg, abdomen, and shoulder were mind-numbing, but he didn't care. His mind was so solely focused on surviving. And running was the only thing his mind registered as staying alive.

He instantly berated himself for coming on this hunt alone, especially with the danger he was now trying to escape. The forest all became one blur as he moved one foot in front of another, not caring what direction he ran. His breaths came in as staggering gasps as he pushed himself well beyond his limit.

Without meaning to, his exhaustion evident, his pace slowed down to a brisk walk. Soon he stopped, gulping in a large amount of air that burned and seared his throat. More hot tears ran down his face uncontrollably. He hastily tried to wipe them away, but they kept coming. He leaned up against a nearby tree, hoping to regain some stability. The searing torment in his calf throbbed painfully and he knew it would only become worse once his adrenaline rush halted. He stayed still for a moment longer, willing the pain to subside, trying to will his mind not to fall into a blissful haze.

The cawing of a bird somewhere amidst the trees alerted him that he was still out in the middle of nowhere. He shook the fog that momentarily coalesced behind his eyes. The image of the battered up truck flashed through his mind and he weakly smiled. The truck meant escape. Escape meant coming back another day and putting the cat-like monster into a fryer. Now all he needed was to get back to it. He didn't have his GPS or his weapon anymore, no thanks to the over-zealous 'Jeffrey Dahmer' wannabes. He looked around for a familiar marker. Crap, how could this situation have turned so badly?

He saw a descending ditch-line that he may have passed earlier and slowly trudged alongside it. He didn't care if it was a misguided hope his brain created to keep him calm. It was working! He limped his way along the ditch taking in all the yellow and red leaf-littered trees. Since it was autumn, a majority of the leaves have fallen, strewn randomly across the landscape, making tracking nearly impossible.

His vision blurred again. Sensing that his strength was fading, he hoped he could make it to his truck in time. He pulled out his cell phone he kept in his jeans pocket, praying that maybe his luck would change for once. He was sadly disappointed when the phone signal shown as 'lost'.

"Damn it all to Hell and back." He swore loudly stowing the phone in his jacket pocket. He continued to limp forward clutching his stomach tenderly.

Dusk fell, casting the woods in an eerie glow. There was only a limited amount of time to find his truck or it meant sleeping outside tonight in the bushes, and he really didn't want that as an ultimate scenario.

Once his mind started to settle from the pain- not by choice- he started to think clearly. He figured it took him twenty to thirty minutes to find the forensic case site. Since then he probably ran in a diagonal when escaping. But his zombie-like pace wouldn't have taken him too far in the opposite direction. So if he made a tangent, maybe, hopefully he would be able to cut-through and find his truck.

He decided to go along with that logic and cut through the woods. The pain in his leg and abdomen escalated beyond a point of debilitating during his trek. He could barely put weight down on his leg. Blood seeped from the wounds in his stomach, soaking the upper portion of his jeans.

Eventually, he found himself leaning against every tree for support, lengthening each stride to catch the next one, fearing if he hadn't, he might fall. His vision blurred at every other step now, and he was so, so nauseous. Reluctantly, he swallowed back the saliva mixed with a tinge of blood that pooled in his mouth. He needed help and he needed it soon!

When he reached for another tree, his foot snagged on an ascending root, and he promptly plummeted to the ground. He couldn't help it. He screamed into the ground, the sound muffled, as he grabbed clumps of dewy leaves in reaction to the terrible agony that erupted in his stomach. He rolled over stiffly, hoping the air would help alleviate the sharp stabs. He continued to pant heavily, carefully laying a hand over his stomach, the other he laid over his eyes.

He never fought so hard against the pain. He was so screwed.

But there was one he thought he could at least rely on. Someone his brother had the utmost time in disbelieving.

_God? Hey if you're listening, I could use some help here buddy. I know I'm not your favorite person in the world, but hear me out, okay! I know I've made some bad choices and maybe have sworn one too many times, but not enough to receive a death sentence. I promise that I'll never argue with Dean or anyone else ever again… Okay, okay, I know that probably isn't true, but I'll try. Please, let me get through this. Let me see my family again. Please. I'll never ask anything of you again. Please, _he thought sullenly.

He waited, steadily focused on slowing his breathing down. Suddenly, it was as if the man upstairs were answering in his own way: an icy breeze picked up brushing past the left side of his face causing him to turn it away from the burning sensation. It was then he opened his eyes and saw the silhouette of something huge, something dark... something that sparked a primal fear in his chest.

His vision focused, distinguishing the object from the dismal background. He let out a half-relieved, half-berating huff when he realized it was the truck. _Thanks man!_

Though it might not be the best looking vehicle, shabbier than any he has ever driven, but it was like a glistening new Porsche in his mind. It was better than that! It was a freakin' Hummer, a small sliver of hope. He struggled to get on his feet.

Using the base of the tree he laid next to, he slowly pulled himself up. The short distance to the _rust bucket_ seemed like it took eternity. He slowly made his way around the front of the truck, relishing the squeaky sound the driver door made when it opened, and the hardened feel of the cab seat.

He shut the door swiftly, eager to go home. However, he instantly became alarmed when he reached to turn the ignition. The keys were missing. That elicited an insufferable groan. The keys are in his backpack which fell to the ground, probably feet away from the mangled hillbillies.

Time to hotwire!

His arms moved sluggishly forward and he cursed again when he couldn't reach the compartment under the steering wheel. He carefully slid his body stiffly down the seat, hissing at the white-hot stabs of pain. He broke open the wire compartment, instantly separating the red and blue wires. Having completed the task numerous times, it became as a second nature to him.

Within no time, the truck's engine revved up. He slowly rose himself up against the back of the seat, panting heavily.

He was so entranced by escaping he didn't notice that the creature had followed the scent of his blood. Nor did he notice the hot puffs of air it made steaming against his window. Its oval-shaped eyes gleamed hungrily at its prey.


	6. Chapter 6

Dean didn't get it. The house was empty. Not a single soul roamed its floors, nor, thankfully, a dead body was found either and Dean found that a bit odd, especially with Lilith's forte. The two hunters searched it high and low for the demon's presence, but they found the house to be virtually quiet.

Dean exited out what he assumed was the parent's bedroom, concluding that this indeed was the house Lilith resided in for a time. It consisted of a large four-poster bed with various bloodstains painting the bedspread, a few tattered curtains, and the indecent smell of human suffering. He turned to Rufus and gave him a beseeching look of _what do we do now_. Rufus returned the look _let's get the hell out of here_ and Dean immediately agreed, taking the front.

Expecting to encounter some demonic activity on the outside, Dean was surprised when he peeked through the drapes of the downstairs window and found that no one roamed the yards. He nodded to Rufus to go ahead and leave out the back door. Quiet as church mice, they both fled to the backyard and ran slouching behind the tall wooden fences until they were safely back at their vehicles by the woods.

"I don't get it," Dean exclaimed breathlessly, leaning on his knees for support.

"You think I have a clue?" Rufus announced leaning against his truck, gulping in a large greedy amount of the wilderness air.

"No," Dean replied. "But we should at least have gone up against some of her pals. I mean, the place fits. This is exactly how she likes to get her kicks."

Rufus released a long huff. "Well, did you really expect for her to keep to her same routine? I mean if I were a demon, I'd switch it up a bit."

"Okay, then what do you suggest she's doing right now? Dillydallying at Toys R' Us?"

Rufus donned a confused expression. "Why the hell would she be flockin' at a kid's store?"

"She likes to inhabit kids, remember? Little girls. Guess she thinks that hunters wouldn't suspect…or kill a child," Dean groused. "Clever! But she's still a sick bitch."

"No kiddin'. So what do we do now?"

"What do you mean?" Dean asked confused.

"What do we do?"

"We look for her," Dean responded in a 'duh' like fashion. "We string her up, say a few words, and 'tootles', send us a postcard from Hell."

Rufus looked like he wanted to smack him. "Okay Major Payne? How do we find her now?"

At that moment, a loud crack of lightning lit up the sky rumbling the ground underneath their feet. The hunters looked up and saw dense cloud cover with a slight purplish hue hovering beneath the night sky, most of which resided over a wheat field.

Dean faced Rufus with a sardonic smirk. "We have our heading."

* * *

If Lilith knew they were coming, you'd think for a high status demon like her, she'd have style in setting up traps for hunters -possibly in a top-of-the-line luxurious house or a basement would do- but a run-down _barn_ wasn't something Dean had in mind for the perfect torture chamber.

Rufus shared the same thought evident by his exact peculiar expression. Stepping out of his archaic truck, he strolled up next to Dean and both stared at the dark structure. It had the traditional layout with the triangular hayloft settled on top with rusty doors. Several roof tiles suspended off the rafters and the walls were in a desperate need of a paint job.

"Wow, home sweet home. Nice place." Dean retorted sarcastically observing the waist high grass surrounding the building.

"You think she's home?"

"Bingo! If anything, she's probably waiting for us as we…" he stopped when his phone vibrated in his pocket. Immediately he reached for it, pressing the end button -believing he turned the device off.

Rufus pulled out his canister of holy water, twisting off the cap. "Ready?"

Dean pulled out Ruby's knife and took a step toward the back of the barn. "As ready as I'm gonna-" the phone vibrated again. Curiosity won big time! He took it out of his pocket, a little shocked at the caller labeled on the screen.

* * *

Sam heard the faint sound of breathing. He slowly turned towards the noise ...emitting a loud cry of fright just as the creature burst through the window, showering him in shards of glass.

_"ARGHHHHHH!"_ He screamed as the creatures' monstrous claws hooked into the flesh of his left shoulder and tugged. Sam wiggled and squirmed, hooking one foot underneath the cab seat, the other pushing against the dash for stability. Still screaming, he grasped the fiend's paws and pulled, attempting to pry the claws out ...but the creature dug deeper, finding a firm grip, nearly yanking him out the window. Due to his feet lodged into place, he stayed inside just barely.

The creature roared, swiping its other paw. He pulled away in time before the paw lopped off his head. It made another noise. One that had Sam believe it was gloating in triumph or something. In a last attempt, he grabbed onto the steering wheel with one hand and reached down towards his boot. Shakily, he pulled out a small switchblade, flipped it open, and shoved it upward into the cat's paw.

The creature screeched in pain. Its claws loosened, but hadn't released. In trying to remove them, it yanked at him mercilessly, and with one last pull, its paw came loose taking small chunks of Sam's flesh with it. Sam unleashed a wail of pain clamping the spurting wound. He slunk down the seat.

Suddenly the creature sprang up at the door. Its body was too large to fit through the window, instead lashing against the frame angrily trying to get inside. Sam scooted back towards the passenger door hastily. His heart practically jumped up his throat, his face frozen in terror. With one massive swipe, the beast managed to rip off the driver's door. It snarled menacingly reaching in. Sam kicked at it with all his might, each kick knocking away its murderous paw.

Desperately, Sam looked all around the cab hoping to find something for defense. He saw the glove compartment just as the giant set of talon-like claws sunk into his injured leg.

_"ARGHHHHHHH!"_ Another painful cry escaped his lips. He kicked unmercifully at the paw embedded in his leg, fumbling with opening the glove compartment. Soon, after feeling the burn of too many kicks, the beast relinquished its hold of his leg. But it wasn't quite finished with him yet. It then squeezed half its body into the cab. At that moment, the extra flare gun fell out. Sam grabbed the gun simultaneously kicking at the monster's mouth. He pulled back the lever of the gun and aimed. The creature opened its large jaw right as he pulled the trigger. The flare rocketed inside its intended target.

The lion-like thing whined, sputtering, clawing at the bright neon fireball burning between its jaws. Sam gagged swapping at the smoke that billowed inside the cab. The beast quickly make an exit from the truck and began rubbing its jaw in the dirt ferociously. Sam took that as his time to leave. He sat up, groaned through the horrible pain in his abdomen, and slid over to the steering wheel. He put the gear into reverse and stomped on the gas pedal.

The truck hadn't made it two meters when the creature rammed into the driver's side, causing the truck to roll over several times, landing on its top. The creature then pounced on top of the undercarriage and began ripping off the metal pipes and gears with its teeth, further dismantling it, and ruining Sam's chance of escape.

Sam coughed up blood again for the third time that night. He instantly became aware of several hard, sharp materials in his mouth. He spit them out, finding they were glass. It was then he noticed the steering wheel and the cab seat was above his head. _That's odd._

The truck suddenly gave a jolt and a shudder, rocking back and forth. Sam glanced to his right and saw through the splintered windshield parts of the truck being thrown aside into the grass. It finally dawned on his foggy mind the truck was upside down and the beast was on top.

The haze clogging his brain slowly evaporated, his survival instincts overtaking. He began to crawl as fast as he could out of the truck, the agonizing pain in his abdomen slowing him down. The creature wailed angrily continuing to tear at more parts of the truck.

Sam snuck out of the passenger side window stealthily crawling through the tufts of long grass and mud. He didn't stop until the creature was long out of sight and it's angry cries were barely heard. Once he felt safe, he paused only briefly to catch his breath and pull out his cell phone. There were still no bars indicating any reception on his phone. Hot tears leaked down his face in despair.

_Please, you're my only hope!_

He continued through the wet leaves and detritus, through various mounds of anthills and dirt watching the tiny screen carefully. It was well past dark now, but he kept going. The only sliver chance of survival he held in the palm of his bloody/dirty hand.

It wasn't long before his reserves were drained. His head lowered to the ground from exhaustion.

_Beep!_

He perked up looking at the phone's screen. He read one bar of signal and his face lit up brighter than a three-year old learning they just won a trip to Disneyworld. He only prayed that it was enough.

Lying back against a mossy log, he scrolled through his list of contacts and found Bobby's number first. He dialed it. His hands shook heavily as he lifted the device to his ear. There were only two rings before Bobby's gruff voice recording began. More tears cascaded down his face when that meant that the only person left to call was his brother. He only hoped Dean would be in giddy mood and pick up when he saw it was him calling.

He scrolled through his list and pressed the button when Dean's number came into view. He closed his eyes, bringing the phone to his ear again. The phone rung several times and there was no answer. It didn't even go to voicemail.

_Please, please Dean, _he thought, all sense of stubbornness leaving him. All sense of dependency, that which he hated the most, encompassing.

He dialed the number again. The phone rang three times when he heard his brother's harsh voice on the receiver. _"What?"_

"Dean?" It came out scratchy, a little worse for wear.

"I'm a little busy here Sam. What the hell do you want?" Dean growled in a whisper.

Sam cringed. His brother was still angry with him, and several doubting thoughts entered his head about whether Dean was willing to help him. He remained silent.

"Sam, I don't have time for the silent treatment. What do you want?"

"De…" he croaked. The pain of the last few hours ensnared everything now, making his mind more muddled. At that point, he didn't care if his brother was still angry with him, as long as he got to hear his voice.

"Sam?"

"De…an," his voice came out in an anguished sob. Blood spilt from the corner of his mouth. "I-I…s-sor…y."

"Sammy, what's wrong?" Dean had asked, his voice full of concern.

Sam's throat was parched, despite the crimson liquid filling in it. His mouth felt like it was rubbing sandpaper together when he tried to speak now. His whole body trembled, the phone slapping harshly against his earlobe. "H-help," he managed to say finally. "De…p-plea….h-h-help."

"Sammy!" Dean gasped terrified. "Sam, where are you? Tell me where you are?"

"De…" he whispered as he lost his grip of the phone. It fell to the damp earth, the sound of his brother's cries echoed through the darkness. He felt clammy and hot. Sweat beads glided down his brow forming a sticky mass at the base of his face. He laid his head down amongst the cool grass and leaves, feeling incredibly tired now. He welcomed the prospect of unconsciousness, anything to escape the terrible agonies that coursed through his body.

* * *

Dean's heart plummeted when he heard the other end go silent. "SAM!"

A million disturbing thoughts raced through his mind and he felt like he had been sucker-punched. He had never heard Sam so weak or desperate before. All anger for the kid was quickly set aside, the panic mode button switching on. He immediately began to walk away.

A firm hand grasped his bicep wheeling him around. He stilled, staring wide-eyed at Rufus, who adopted a quizzical expression by his sudden change in attitude. "Where're ya goin', Dean?" the hunter asked.

"I gotta go. Sammy's in trouble," Dean exclaimed wrenching his arm out the man's grip.

"No wait. We're in trouble right now. That demon is waiting for us behind those doors as we speak."

"I don't care. My brother needs my help right now and I'm going!"

"How do you know your brother isn't doing this on purpose? You said yourself that you and him got into a fight. How do you know he's not doing this to keep you away?"

"I know Sam, and he would never cry for help unless he was in some serious trouble," Dean explained.

Rufus huffed, apparently irritated. "You know, this is why hunters don't do well working together. I mean we're this close in taking down the bitch and now your brother has to go screw it all up. I mean you went to Hell for the kid. Why do you feel like you owe him anything? I'd leave his ass."

Dean wanted nothing more than to give the old man a good ass kicking. But Sam needed help now. "You know what? Screw you."

"Fine, but don't come crying to me when the devil herself shows up at your door because you missed out on the opportunity of ganking her."

Dean glared at him, then turned on his heel and ran back to the Impala. In less than ten seconds, the engine fired up and he sped away.

* * *

Rufus scowled, kicking at a clump of dirt on the ground. He shook his head, silently insulting the kid. This is why hunters worked alone; are alone. So if something were to happen, the enemy had no leverage. And if something were to happen to another family member or partner, you couldn't concentrate on the job and it could get you killed.

Deciding to take care of the job once and for all, he crept silently on through the open back doors of the barn. The place was dark and enshrouded in years worth of dust and cobwebs. Broken and rusty field machinery lay around the edges of the wall and moldy hay barrels littered the floorboards.

What sounded like something large and metallic falling over echoed somewhere towards the back of the barn instantly making him alert. Backing up against a column post, he slowly peered around squinting through the darkness. His pupils dilated and what he could make out was the crash came from a behind a door located in the back of the barn.

Rushing over to the wall as quietly as he could, he settled next to the door slowly sliding his fingers around the cold steel knob. In one swift movement, he swung the door open brandishing his canister of holy water.

A bright light flared and he covered his eyes with his hand from the searing pain in his corneas, the can falling from his grasp. A rapid sensation of hot air pulsed around him bringing him down to his knees. He felt the air quickly rush from his lungs and he struggled for a breath. The light's flash dulled and he felt slow child-like footsteps vibrate through the floor. He glanced up and saw a child, a little girl with short, tawny cropped hair, a pale face, and pale eyes dressed in a sunflower yellow Sunday school outfit. He would've laughed at the irony of a demon in a child's body if he could have breathed.

The little girl frowned. "Hmmm, you're not the brother. But I guess you'll have to do," she said in a high-pitched voice.

At that moment, she nodded her head up at the ceiling. Rufus's eyes swelled with fear when he saw a formless cloud of black smoke enter the room through a vent overtop the doorway and hover over the two figures. The girl nodded again and the cloud descended, consuming the human in its vapor. Rufus felt the strong breezes of the cloud surround him and bite at his skin and the icky feeling as it entered his mouth. He struggled as much as he could, but eventually he succumbed to the darkness, no longer able to fight.

The little girl's face remained expressionless as she watched her minion rise from the ground, straightening out, awaiting orders.

"You know what to do," she spoke in a dead calm.

The demon nodded in understanding and left the room without a word.


	7. Chapter 7

"Dammit Bobby!" Dean cursed slamming his cell phone shut. That was probably the thirtieth time he tried calling, but the old coot absolutely refused to answer. He dialed again. "Pick up your phone!"

When the line repeated the same mechanism, Dean threw his phone at the dash. The plastic device bounced off the windshield and skidded along the seat settling by the passenger door.

"Son of a bitch!" The Impala propelled well over fear-inducing speeds. He decided if he couldn't reach Bobby by phone, he'd race to his house first.

The panic that enveloped after hearing Sam's terrified and desperate voice amplified the longer he was on the road. He didn't bother to stop until he reached the state of Nebraska for a gas run. After the hasty fuel-up, he lurched the car back on the road and continued his dangerous race, breaking any and all speed limits on his way to South Dakota.

He had just passed the borderline of South Dakota when the phone across the seat began dancing, hopping and sliding along the leather upholstery. Somewhat relieved and anxious, he bent over in trying to retrieve it. Unfortunately, the phone kept bouncing away from him, fumbling within his grasp each time he got nearer to it. The car bounced and jostled harder the longer he tried to obtain it, keeping his eyes off the road.

Finally with one huge bump, the phone bounced off the seat and landed in his hand. Feeling triumphant, he sat back up, releasing a frightened gasp when he saw the Impala heading straight for a large billboard sign planted in the ditch. Instinctively, he yanked the car wheel forcibly to the left causing the Impala to jack-knife onto the road, where the car's backend began to fishtail. Finally the car settled, moving along the asphalt steadily. The phone vibrated once more in the palm of his hand.

He screamed out when he opened the flap, "SAMMY!"

"Dean?" It was Bobby.

"Bobby?" he gasped, then let out a huge sigh of relief. "Oh thank God. Why the hell haven't you been answering your phone?"

"Antenna's been down lately. Just got her fixed an hour ago," the old man explained.

Frantically, Dean forced, "Oh my God, Bobby. Bobby. Bobby..."

"Yes, my name is Bobby…Good Dean," Bobby replied with juvenile intent.

"This is no time for jokes," Dean screamed anxiously. "I need you to look up the coordinates to Sam's phone right now!"

"Okay. Okay. Calm down. Calm down. Why? What's going on?"

Dean heard the man's thundering footsteps in the background and the creak of his chair. "I don't have time to explain. Just do it."

Well tough," Bobby argued. "Why am I looking up his coordinates? I thought he was with you. You told me he was sick."

Dean clenched his eyes, realizing this was his comeuppance. He knew it was going to bite him in the ass, and now was the time to pay the piper. "I lied Bobby."

"You what?"

"I lied to you Bobby, but I don't have time…"

"You lied to me!" Bobby's beast-like voice bellowed. Guess he was a bit delayed on the anger part. "For what?"

"I couldn't tell you the truth..."

"Why not?"

"Because…"

"Spit it out, boy!"

"Other hunters can't know," Dean said uncomfortably.

"I'm not just some other hunter, boy. You of all people should know that. And I'm kinda disappointed that you would think that I would react the same way any other hunter would about whatever it is."

Dean took his hand off the wheel to pinch the bridge of his nose again.

"Now what does this have to do with your brother? What's goin' on?" Bobby asked eagerly.

Dean huffed uncertain of what to say.

"Dean!" Bobby growled.

Finally Dean found his voice replacing his hand back on the wheel. "Me and Sam. We…uh…had a fight and we ditched one another."

"You separated? What could you two stupid idgits have argued about?"

"Sam used his powers."

"He what?" the old man exclaimed.

"Yeah, I just found out about two weeks ago, right before the hunt Travis sent us on. That's how he's been getting' around since I was in the pit."

"Dammit Sam. What else happened?"

"After I found out, he told me he wouldn't use them anymore."

"But I thought all he can do is just visions, right?"

"No, he can exorcise demons too."

"Just exorcism?" Bobby sounded confused.

"He uses his mind Bobby," Dean answered knowing what the old man was thinking.

The line went silent for a minute, but soon Bobby came back on. "Is that all he can do?"

"I don't know. Just recently we were working a job, a werewolf and for some odd reason the dude died. We didn't stick him or shoot him, he just keeled over. And I swear I saw Sam do it, but he said he didn't."

"And you didn't believe him?" Bobby accused.

"Huh?"

"You stupid ass. He's your brother. If he says he didn't do it, then why don't you believe him?"

"He's lied to me before about this Bobby. How…"

"Have you ever thought that he was trying to find a way to tell you?" Bobby interrupted. "I mean I know how you react to this whole crap and I would try to keep it from you too."

"What are you trying to say?"

"I'm sayin', you, me, and the Harvelles are the only ones who know about his psychic crap; the only ones he can trust. You go taking that from him, he's got no one."

"Bobby, I don't…

"No, obviously you don't know."

"Okay look," Dean nearly shouted apparently agitated. "I deserve the guilty jury conviction and all…"

"Boy, you deserve a good ass kicking!"

"Okay fine! You can get the tar and feathers out later, but Sam needs help right now. I don't where he is and he's hurt Bobby," Dean exclaimed exasperatedly.

"How do you know?" .

"He called me and he could barely talk," Dean's voice quivered. "So you can stay mad at me as long as you like, but please help me find Sam."

"Okay. Okay. I'm on the site right now. What are his socials again?"

"2474."

"2474," he repeated writing the numbers down. "Good. Where are you right now?"

"I'm about an hour from your house."

"Good that'll give me enough time to get packed."

"See ya then," Dean hung up and pressed down harder on the pedal, whipping past all the cow pastures and wheat fields in one blur.

* * *

The sun was just peeking over the horizon when the Impala skidded to a halt a couple inches from Bobby's veranda where the old man stood waiting. Bobby's eyebrows rose so high, they nearly disappeared under his green ball cap. "Boy, if you had screwed up my porch, I'm gonna give you a new nose job using nothing but a spoon, ya hear?"

"Save it," Dean remarked rudely stepping out of the driver's door. "We got to go. Did you find him?"

"Yeah," Bobby answered grabbing a large forest green duffel off the porch.

"Where is he?" Dean asked taking the bag from Bobby's hands and running to the backdoor passenger side and throwing the bag in.

"On the far side of Colorado."

"Shit. Let's go now!"

"Hang on a minute."

"We don't have a minute," Dean blurted wide-eyed.

"You make a minute," the old man replied forcibly. "Do you know why he was over there?"

"No."

"Yeah, well apparently he was huntin' somethin'. Somethin' big that no one has been able to see or catch."

"How do you know?"

Bobby handed him a stack of papers. Dean snatched them out of his grip and began to read furiously, while Bobby picked up a tarnished First Aid box with its lettering chipping off in a few places and placed it in the trunk.

After Dean finished reading, the flood of panic continued to flow and reached well over his head. He suddenly began to feel like he was drowning in it. Sam was out there all alone with only God-knows what animal and seriously hurt. If they didn't leave like that very second, he might lose his brother for good…if he hasn't lost him already.

He faced Bobby with a dangerous expression. "Get in the car now."

* * *

It appeared to be around mid-day when Dean pulled up on the outskirts of the dimly lit, misty edged timberland. Apparently the forest forgot to roll out the welcome mat, and it slightly unnerved him. It had a sinister aura surrounding it's features as if it were saying _enter at your own risk_. Dean looked at the eerie setting with trepidation tentatively wondering if he will find his brother in there -also wondering if he should be more concerned with the thing Sam was hunting, or Mother Nature herself.

Suddenly Bobby's bear-like voice broke him out of his reverie. "Okay, Sam's coordinates read somewhere North in here," he said rotating his hand over a dark green patch on the map he held in his hands. "And according to Loutonville's reports, Getterson's woods are where several maulings had happened recently. I think knowing your brother, he would've checked out the sites. They should be about fifty meters ahead, and if anything went on, it should be around there."

Dean nodded, exiting the driver's seat, heading to the back of the trunk. Bobby proceeded out of the car following the kid. There Dean handed him his dad's Marine duffel bag and started placing weapons inside it.

Bobby peered interested at him. "Dean, he's not gonna need any of this…"

"No, but we might. I read the reports too and whatever he was hunting, it may still be out there. We're no good to him dead. We gotta find him now." Dean placed his sawed-off shotgun inside the bag. He dug deeper into the trunk and pulled out the out-dated First Aid kit and his dad's army blanket. Bobby's shoulder sagged from the weight. But he didn't complain.

Dean shut the trunk and took the bag easily from the old man, hooking it around his shoulder and setting off; his Baretta locked and loaded in one hand and a GPS device in his other. He walked at a brisk pace keeping several feet ahead of Bobby constantly checking the device's coordinates.

Bobby remained behind searching and listening for anything that might have been out of place. A strong breeze blew through the landscape, stirring all kinds of debris, making all sorts of noises causing him to be slightly paranoid. He occasionally checked behind him to make sure no demon or monster made themselves present.

Dean found a narrow path placed between various trees of many shapes and sizes. The path was flat and slick, but it was open and made traveling a little easier. He went on, looking all around for an opening in the woods, or God-forbid, a body. Several tormenting thoughts ran through his head. Many of them taunting him about how the last couple of things he said to Sam were how he regretted dying for him. He lowered his head in despair. He never should have said that to him. It was never Sam's fault he made the deal in the first place. He made it to save him. And he would do it again in a heartbeat if it ever came to that.

He pushed the dark thoughts out of his mind and concentrated at the task at hand: find Sam. He stumbled on through the patches of dirt and leaves and thorn bushes snagging painfully at his legs. So far they found nothing.

* * *

Whoever came up with the theory of relativity should've been shot! It felt like they have been searching for hours, when only an hour had passed and if anything, Dean's anxiety may have surpassed ludicrous intensity. If so much as a bug were to touch him, he'd shoot it, several times.

Bobby became aware of his jittery state and decided to give the oldest Winchester some more room (in case he does explode!) The swirling of leaves and the mating caws of horny critters kept Dean on edge most of the time, evident by his constant clicking of the gun's safety mechanism on and off.

A little while later, Dean let out an enormous sigh of relief when they encroached upon an opening in the trees. He passed several more cedars and thorn vines and soon found the remains of a Ford truck. It was laid upside down on its top with pieces of its undercarriage lay scattered. Dean and Bobby gaped in shock at the sight. Dean looked on behind it and saw a flat disguised road. That's probably where Sam came from. How was it that they hadn't found it?

The two hunters searched all around the wreckage, unable to keep the foreboding feeling away.

"What the hell happened here?" asked Dean, aghast.

Bobby shared his look of shock observing the area.

Dean stepped around the truck. "SAM!" he called. "SAMMY. WHERE ARE YOU?"

Nothing but the caws of birds and whistling of insects answered back.

"SA-" he began to call again, but was cut off when Bobby pressed a large calloused hand over his mouth.

"Shhh. Whatever he was huntin', we don't want to draw it back here."

Dean agreed with his logic and moved forward bending down next to the passenger door peering inside. Bobby knelt down on the other side and examined the huge dent made in the doorframe. Lying beneath it, he noticed a distinct paw print etched in the ground. His brows furrowed trying to recall what kind of animal it might be. The only conclusion he could come up with was that it belonged to a mountain lion.

Dean reached in through the hole where the window used to be, pulling out a flare gun. He sniffed it. The smell of ash and chemical wafted through his nostrils signifying to him that it had been used. He tossed it away. And that was when he caught the sight of bloodstains artfully making a pattern across the ceiling of the truck. He closed his eyes taking a deep breath.

When he opened them again, he followed the smears, which led out of the window and into the grass. He crouched down lower and noticed the flat patches of grass and the small stains of red, only his trained eyes could see.

"Bobby, over here," he alerted the old hunter.

Bobby maneuvered himself around the truck and crouched down beside Dean. He too found the stained patches of grass.

"Looks like he crawled," Bobby suggested pointing to the flattened patches.

Dean clenched his eyes shut understanding what that meant. If Sammy crawled, then he was seriously injured. _Oh God!_ He slowly rose and followed the trail. He didn't dare blink in case he lost it.

The more ground they covered, the denser the brush became. Dean eyes began to hurt after a little while. He pushed past the pain, lowering himself more to the ground. They walked for a good twenty to thirty minutes and still had produced nothing. The trail was becoming more elusive by the minute. Dean sighed straightening his back out, eager to get rid of the treacherous ache that sprouted.

"Hey Bobby, maybe we can cover more ground if we split. But not too far from each other, alright?"

Bobby nodded in agreement branching out to the right. He hopped over a couple of logs and disappeared from view. Dean continued on, stumbling over many loose twigs and clumps of damp leaves. A certain breeze blew through the landscape chilling him to the bone. He wrapped his arms around him carrying on. He traveled a few more minutes when his eye fell on a dark object lying on the ground. His body froze, his eyes widening in shock when they recognized that the object was a pair of boots. His eyes traveled upward and rested on his brother. He appeared to be…

"_Oh my God!_"


	8. Chapter 8

"SAMMY!" Dean screamed taking off at a sprint. "SAMMY! BOBBY! OVER HERE!"

He didn't stop until he was at his brother's side. Sam was practically hidden against a mossy log, covered by foliage and mud. His skin was ashen and his clothes covered in mud clumps and dried blood.

Sammy. Sammy," Dean called to the still form, picking up his lax head. Sam made no response, his head lolling in his brother's hands. A large smear of dried blood ran alongside his temple and down his cheek and the left side of Sam's face sustained a large mottled bruise. Dean's heart plummeted when he felt how cold his brother's skin was under his hands; his lips were a tint of blue. He pressed a couple fingers in the crook of Sam's neck and scrunched his eyes, waiting to feel a pulse.

Nothing.

Dean's hands started to tremble pressing down harder.

He waited. _Please, Please, Please. I can't relive this again!_

Bobby trudged over, slowing down his pace at the sight. He wasn't quite sure of how to approach the two Winchesters. He carefully knelt down beside Dean, placing a large calloused hand on the boy's shoulder.

"Don't. Don't," Dean whispered forcefully, his eyes still clammed shut.

Bobby let out a sigh.

Dean concentrated pressing further into Sam's pale skin and then felt something. He jerked up. There was a tiny thump. He focused on it. _Is it?_ He pressed harder, possibly cutting off the boy's pressure point.

He felt it again. A tiny beat. It was faint, but it was still there.

Dean turned to Bobby, his eyes shining with hope. "Bobby, he's still alive. Quick, open the bag."

Bobby opened the duffel and reached in pulling out the first aid kit and the army blanket. Dean quickly wrapped the blanket around Sam's form, climbing under his brother and propping him against his chest.

Bobby opened the box pulling out a syringe full of transparent liquid. "I knew this might come in handy."

"What is it?" Dean inquired rubbing his hand up and down Sam's arm, eying the syringe with concern.

"Epinephrine. Just a short dose. It'll keep his heart going until we can get him out of here," the old man replied taking off the sealed cap and flicking the needle. He plunged the needle into Sam's neck, emptying the vile into his bloodstream. Sam's body instantly arched, gasping for air.

Dean's eyes widened with alarm strengthening his hold on his brother's form. He calmed down slightly when Sam's body went lax again, his breathing coming out in large rasps indicated by the fog forming underneath his nostrils.

"Sammy. Sammy. Wake up. Please wake up," Dean prodded his face. Sam's eyes remained sealed. Dean knelt his head down on top of Sam's grimy, blood-matted scalp.

"Dean, we gotta get 'im out of here," Bobby spoke concerned.

Dean lifted his head scanning around the area. Tears formed at the brim of his lids when he realized that the area was too dense for his car to get through, and there was no way they could carry him out. He was like a dead weight already. Dean feared that by the time they do drag him out, the epinephrine would wear off and Sam wouldn't make it.

He was faced with a hard decision. He averted his grief-stricken gaze to Bobby, who stared at him with trepidation. "Go get help," he whispered desperately.

Bobby didn't need to be told twice. He gathered a few more supplies out of the kit and laid them at Dean's side. "If I'm not back in an hour, give him another shot. Keep the GPS and take my satellite phone," he handed him a large cellular device. "I'll be back as soon as I can. Keep him warm."

Dean watched the man take his shotgun and take off at a sprint. He never in his life felt so lucky to have Bobby around. He was like a gift from God. If only God could give him some reassurance of getting out of this mess and Sam coming back from this unscathed, maybe he'd consider thanking the dude.

* * *

He continued to hold onto his brother for what seemed like hours. He checked his watch and learned that Bobby had only been gone for twenty minutes. He couldn't have gotten back to the Impala by now. Then a thought struck him making him cringe. He reached around to the back part of his jeans pocket and felt them buried away. The keys! _Oh Crap! Crap! Crap! Crap! Crap!_

"Don't worry, Sammy. Bobby will figure out what to do," he whispered into Sam's hair, rocking him back and forth. Sam's breathing began to come in short ragged gasps, and he hoped he wouldn't have to apply the epinephrine again just yet. He didn't think Sam could handle another dose so soon.

The temperature seemed to have dropped. Dean's body began to tremble, but nothing compared to the shivers that racked through Sam's body. Dean reached forward and tried rubbing parts of Sam's body, attempting to stimulate the blood flow, trying to keep him warm. The muscles in his back ached terribly, but he didn't care. Sam was more important right now. He swung his legs out from under him transitioning into a more comfortable position.

The wind picked up again, courteous of the mountainous environment, chilling him to the bone. His teeth began to chatter, and he could only imagine what Sam was going through. He decided to move, to check out how injured his sibling was. He lifted the blanket and moved the flap of Sam's jacket.

What he saw made him gag. He quickly threw his head to the side and vomited over the log. Wiping away the hot sticky bile that dribbled off his chin, he glanced at Sam's abdomen again, grimacing at the fact that it was soaked in blood. He snaked a shaky hand towards and carefully opened Sam's striped stained shirt. He forced back another gag when he saw the inflamed area: small tears and holes appeared all throughout his stomach. He gently prodded the area, but rapidly backed away when Sam let out an anguished moan.

"S-sorry Sammy. It's…It's o-o-kay, we're g-gonna fix this…Jesus, what happened to you? Oh God, Sammy…P-please hurry Bobby," he mumbled through his chattering teeth tucking Sam's shirt back in and flipping over the flap, replacing the blanket over his trembling baby brother.

He checked his watch again after a while. He had another five minutes before he had to administer another shot to Sam. Looking down at his sibling's face, he noticed a patch of dirt clinging to his cheek. Wiping away the grime, he laughed when a certain memory of when they were kids flashed through his mind.

"I remember that," Dean said out loud. "Remember that time Sammy when we were kids. I think it might have been in Fort Douglas before…before, well, you know," he spoke peering down at his brother. He figured talking to Sam wasn't a bad idea, even if the conversation was one-sided. It was more to comfort him than Sam. "Anyway, we'd go out and pretend we're in combat position, hiding behind mounds of dirt, pretending to shoot at the enemy. Ha, I remember I was G.I. Joe, and you were…uh…you were um…I don't know, you might have been Barbie."

He laughed, but instantly was overwhelmed with a chill. He tightened his hold around Sam's torso and blinked back tears.

"And I remember you always found a way to roll through the mud. Thought it was manly. One day I followed you. I even got in the mud too and we crawled until we found that stream. God, Dad's face was priceless when we got home. I seriously thought he was going to shit a brick when we showed up looking like we were adopted with patches of dirt and grass all over us. Man, those were the days. He kept calling us hooligans and said if we kept acting like that, the boogeyman was gonna get us," he snorted. "Never realized he was actually being serious."

He looked around and noticed the little received daylight was now receding to a dull gray color. Dusk was approaching and that only meant it was going to get colder. He closed his eyes again. Sam had called last night and if the area was becoming like this, it surely was bound to have been the same last night. How his brother managed to survive the extremities severely injured this long astounded Dean. His brother truly was the eighth wonder of the world.

_Let's keep it that way!_

He checked his watch and saw the time passed the hour mark. He groped around for the other syringes lying next to him. He picked one up and took the cap off with his teeth. He held it up, ready to take the deep plunge.

"Okay, Sammy. Here we go," he said lowering the needle.

Suddenly, a roaring sound met his ears and a powerful wind erupted. He dropped the syringe and clung onto Sam harder, shielding him from the damp leaves and patches of dirt whirling around. Next a blinding light flashed above him, illuminating his current residence. _Uh, are we being abducted?_

A dark, nylon rope plopped to the ground in front of him and he felt his heart skip a beat.

_Rescue. Oh thank God! _

Next, a paramedic dressed in dark blue attire with an emergency logo draped over the middle slide down. He felt the relief seep through him; a blissful haze washed over him numbing him down to his core. _Sammy's gonna make it!_


	9. Chapter 9

_Time._

Time can be a fickle thing. It can either be your enemy that stares at you in the face and laughs mirthlessly; or it can be a blessing that relieves a deep depression in your heart when you dread a certain task. Either way, the clock on the far side of the waiting room made time a mere embodiment of bitterness. The stick moved effortlessly, making an awful clicking noise that reached Dean's ear cavity. Though it was barely audible, it pounded throughout Dean's mind incessantly, constantly keeping him aware of the discomforting silence of the room, and reminding him of the agonizing wait for news about his brother.

He sat on the floor with his back propped against the edge of a wooden mauve-cushioned chair, his head lowered onto his knees with his arms wrapped around his legs. The events of the day etched in his mind and were apparently not capable of fading away, no matter how much he willed them to. The paramedic unhooked his harness and rushed over, prying Sam from his vice-like grip, assessing the situation. He remembered the paramedic yell something into his helme, followed by two other rescuers descending down the cable. Everything seemed to have stopped at that point and before he knew it, he watched as they strapped his unresponsive brother into a rescue gurney and airlifted him away.

That was the last time he saw him. Sam. His baby brother. The one he vowed to care for, the one he practically raised like his own child. It seemed so careless. He wanted nothing more than to bash in the faces of the people who took him from him. But where he wanted to place the blame on someone else's head, he couldn't help but realize that the truth was staring at him in the face.

It was his fault. He should have seen the rift that sprouted between them ever since his return trip from Hell. He should have seen that the rift grew steadily bigger the more the brothers kept secrets from one another. He still didn't know all of Sam's exploits or suicidally reckless activities, nor did he want to know. Right now he just wanted his brother to come back to him. He wanted to make up for the fight that led to this point. He just wanted his Sammy back, even if he came back as a complaining snobby brat. The guilt gnawed at him from the inside like a pitbull starved for too long. To say he was miserable could win the understatement award of the century.

He couldn't recall how long it had been. All sense of time left him when the clicking started. He glanced up and saw Bobby slouched in a chair opposite him with his head hung over the back, asleep. He shook his head in disbelief, wondering how the old man could sleep when Sam was possibly dying _or…no_ he couldn't think that. It was too painful. He averted his gaze to the puke-green carpet beneath him. His lips curled into a weak smirk admiring the damage he caused by the surmountable pacing he'd done hours before. It was well worn by the time he was tired: bits of the chestnut floorboard could be seen underneath. _Well, it needed a change and I just gave it the motivation._

The clock struck noon by the time someone came into the bland, poster-less room. He didn't notice until he felt a gentle tap on his shoulder. He jerked up, alarmed, to face a thin doctor with calm, gray eyes and trimmed blonde/graying hair. The man raised his hands up in defense signaling it was okay.

"Mr. Carriden?" the man asked in a smooth tranquil tone.

Dean nodded. "M-my…" he tried to speak, but his voice came out raspy and stiff, from distraught and disuse. He cleared his throat. "Sam. My brother. How is he?"

The doctor let out a long sigh. "Perhaps you should follow me to my office?" He offered him a hand.

Dean felt his stomach wriggle. Why couldn't the doctor say what was happening right now? What was wrong with the man? He refused the doctor's hand and stood up. He pondered about what wise course of action he should take. Should he square up to the doctor right now and force him to tell him? Or should he calmly follow and listen carefully, and fight the strong urges to lash out at something? He gave one sullen look at Bobby and decided to fight his conscious. He felt secure, because Bobby was there to keep him in line if he ever managed to break.

"Okay," he replied. "But our uncle has to come. I…I don't think I could do this alone."

"Sure," the doctor agreed leaving the room.

Dean nudged Bobby, who awoke with a loud snort. The old man wiped the sleet off his eyes and hopped up following Dean out the door.

They were led down a long, blinding white hallway with bustling nurses and doctors heading into various rooms. They often had to overstep a few discarded boxes and file around several IV stands gathered in the hallway before they came to a door. The doctor took out his keys and that was when Dean noticed his sign to the right of the doorframe:_ Dr. Michael Stevens, M.D. _

The gracious doctor entered and motioned for them to take a seat in the two chairs in front of his cluttered desk. He closed the door and walked briskly around settling in an oversized cushioned chair. He then leaned forward with a forlorn expression, clasping his hands tightly.

"Mr. Carriden, your brother right now is in a very unstable condition. He…"

"Just tell me, doc," Dean blurted. "No bullshit. Just…just tell me what are his chances."

Dr. Stevens sighed again, licking his dry lips before answering. "Very slim. But he is fighting very hard. Based on the condition your brother was in when he was brought in, it is truly a wonder he lasted this long. To say his condition is critical is the very least. He was teetering on the brink of stage three hypothermia, and it took our staff several hours to get his body temperature back to the appropriate temperature level before we could finally assess him. We became particularly concerned around his abdominal region, where we found shards of metal casings and possibly lead mat…"

"Wait, are you telling me that my brother was shot?" Dean interrupted, eying the doctor dangerously half-rising from his seat. "Are you telling me that someone did this to him?"

"Please calm down, Mr. Carriden. We don't know the full extent of the details. But yes, we have reason to believe your brother's condition was due to foul play…"

"Son of a bitch!" Dean growled.

"Dean!" Bobby warned glaring at him from under his cap. He turned back to the doctor. "Please continue."

"Sam appeared to have been shot at least three times. We found a bullet penetration in his right lower calf muscle and more buckshot pellets in his right shoulder area. The area I'm most concerned about is the damaged inflicted upon the serosa of the intestinal wall."

"The what?" Dean shook his head at the term.

"Serosa, the lining of your brother's intestines. It appears some of the lead materials have penetrated a few areas of the wall and are still embedded. We have to get them out soon or the area will become susceptible to lead poisoning or infection…if it's not infected already."

"Then what the hell are you waiting for? Get on with it!"

"Mr. Carriden, I understand your concern. But we have to wait until Sam's vitals stabilize first, or he won't make through the first five minutes of surgery. We're monitoring him very closely and we have him on a strong dose of antibiotics, so it won't lead to infection. We do need your consent though to go ahead with the surgery once he is capable," he said picking up a clipboard.

"Yeah, of course," Bobby replied taking the clipboard and scribbling down a signature.

"We also found other injuries in his other shoulder and right calf muscle that causes a bit of suspicion," the doctor continued.

"What are you talking about?"

"The injury planted on Sam's left shoulder looked to have been mauled, say from an animal, like a cougar. And with the attacks that occurred several weeks ago, I have reason to think that it may be the same culprit. Do you know why your brother was out there?" he asked, his eyes imploring into Dean's mossy-green eyes as if searching for a hidden truth.

"No," Dean lied.

"Alright. Also, have you ever heard of two men, two locals: Dennis Longwood and Terry Phischer?"

"No. Who the hell are they? Are those the assholes who did this to my brother?"

"We're not sure. But I just received a call about an hour ago and a pair of bodies was found not far from where the paramedics found Sam, along with two shotguns and a rifle. The authorities believe that the shotgun shells used were made of the same materials we found in Sam's abdomen and shoulder. Longwood and Phischer were notorious for using that kind of ammunition for hunting game. That's how we could tell it was them."

"What do you mean?"

"For confidentiality purposes, I cannot give you the full details of the case. But since we believe that your brother may have had contact with Longwood and Phischer in some way, shape, or form, we believe it is necessary for you to know. The bodies were mangled beyond recognition and so Sam is wanted in for questioning about the situation. The authorities believe they were all attacked by the same animal."

Dean shook his head in disbelief at the audacity of these people. The stress he felt from the last two days slowly began to creep up on him and he wasn't quite sure if he could handle it. Unable to stop himself, he blurted out loudly, "They can't do that. He's not even conscious. …"

"I assure you they won't get anywhere near Sam for a while," the doctor interrupted. "My responsibility as Sam's doctor goes. Sam is in no condition to give a statement as is. But if your brother does make a full recovery, the jurisdiction is out of my hands. Right now, I won't let them in the ward. So far we've put Sam on strong sedatives to help him through the first part of recovery. We have him in the ICU for close observation. And if he makes it through the first twenty-four hours-"

"Screw you, doc. My brother gonna make it through this," Dean blurted.

"Dean, knock it off," Bobby growled through clenched teeth.

"I'll be frank with you, Mr. Carriden. I believe Sam is strong. I've seen it so far. But I can't give you guaranteed affirmation that your brother will come out of this. Currently, it's looking very _iffy_ at the moment. And for all we know, Sam could take a turn for the worst. You have to be prepared. So far, he's been lucky that you found him in the time that you did. And if all goes well in the first twenty-four hours, and he appears to be capable of surgery, we'll go ahead with it. He's in good hands. At least three other doctors and surgeons will give their consent about whether they feel he is strong enough for surgery. Right now, all we can do is wait."

Dean let out a long, tired sigh rubbing the side of his face. He glanced up at the ceiling, as if looking for support. The news he was just briefed seemed to do nothing to quell the painful ache in his gut. He wanted to see Sam. He wanted to let his brother know he's there. He couldn't imagine what it was like for Sam to face what he did. God, why wasn't he there? He didn't think it was possible for him to forgive himself. Deep down, he knew Sam would never forgive him.

"Can we see him?" Dean asked quietly, his gaze now resting on the floor.

"Yes, but for a limited time only. I do have to warn you that his appearance might come as a shock. We have him on a ventilator for oxygen support and on intravenicular support for needed fluids. You need to make sure you do not disturb any of the tubes or wires…"

"We got it, just please. I need to see my brother," Dean pleaded standing up abruptly, along with Bobby.

"Alright, follow me."

The doctor led them out of the office and back down the hallway they came from. They passed the waiting room and made a right onto a hallway labeled **ICU.** Dean's heart hammered painfully against his chest the further they traveled. His eyes swiveled from side to side peering into the small rectangular windows of the wooden doors, looking for signs of his brother. They meandered through a couple more corridors before the doctor finally stopped. The man turned toward them, giving them a disheartening expression. Dean didn't know what to make of it. It drilled a hole through his rapidly shrinking heart and it hurt.

"You can go in, now. I'll be by in a few hours to check on his vitals and see how he is doing."

That was all Dean needed to hear before he barged into the room, freezing in his tracks at the sight of his little brother. He appeared dead, but slightly just. A little color had returned to Sam's face and his body was swathed in white bandages with bloodstains shining through. His mouth had tapes on his upper and lower lips, firmly holding a tube that entered at the corner. A couple IV needles penetrated his right hand, effectively supplying the nutrients his body lost. Dean regained some of his composure and walked up beside the bed.

A nurse stood on the other side of Sam, scribbling some information on a chart. Dean hadn't noticed her when he walked in, but had now. She had short dark hair, the ends resting on her shoulders, contrasting against a peach-hue skin tone. She looked up and Dean saw she had dark chocolate eyes, calm, and tranquil. They didn't scream out _un-trustworthy_ and he felt he could relax.

"Hello there, I'm Caylee. I'll be Sam's attending nurse," she said in a soft tone.

"I'm Dean, his brother," he nodded towards Sam. "And this is our uncle Bobby," he pointed in Bobby's direction when the man strolled up next to him.

"Hi there. I'm just jotting down some numbers of Sam's vitals. He seems to be doing much better than he had an hour ago," she stated.

Dean nodded his head gazing sullenly at Sam's still form. "Yeah, the doc said that."

"Okay then, I'll leave you alone with him. Um, I should tell you visiting hours are over at eight...but I can tell I don't have to," the nurse kindly said.

Both hunters kindly stared at her as if saying _no duh_, clearly indicating what she said was true. She felt awkward under their penetrating gaze and made a beeline for the door. "I'll be back later to check on him and redress his wounds."

"Thanks," Dean called out softly, not caring if she heard or not. He searched around the room for a chair and found one located in a far corner. He raced over to it and pulled it up next to the bed. He took Sam's limp hand into his own and held on tight. "It's okay, Sammy. I'm here now."


	10. Chapter 10

Bobby and Dean sat eagerly in the same bland waiting room. They received the news shortly after the doctor's prognosis that Sam was competent for surgery and would be taken down soon. Dean's leg bobbed up and down performing a staccato rhythm as a million _what if _scenarios flitted through his anxious mind. What if Sam didn't come out of surgery unscathed? What if he died on the table and he wasn't there? What if he…

He couldn't stand it. This anticipation. This apprehension that something might go wrong. It was the Winchester luck after all. Now he knew why old people kicked the bucket more often than not, because the anticipation was worse than any other foreboding feeling, no offense to Bobby. He knew deep down this feeling of dread, this feeling of concern for his baby brother was killing him. He glanced up at his mentor, who sat opposite of him in a dingy chair calmly admiring the floor and twiddling his thumbs.

Bobby didn't know what to make of the deadly silence in the room. He secretly wished someone else were in there, so the deadly calm wouldn't seem so unbearable. He peered up at the clock and saw Sam was scheduled to go into surgery for another five minutes. Who knows how long the surgery was going to take? Though he wouldn't have admitted it, but he was glad that Dean enforced that he wanted to stay by Sam. The doctors fought a good fight, but they really didn't stand a chance against the hurricane that was Dean's protectiveness over his sibling. Much to their displeasure, they agreed to allow them to sit in the observation room stationed above the surgical unit and watch the doctor's perform the surgery. Any minute now they would come for them, and he couldn't wait... the anticipation was killing him too.

The door of the room opened and both men jumped up from their chairs simultaneously. A petite nurse dressed in yellow scrubs came in and spoke through a cotton mask, "Mr. Carriden, we're ready."

She led them out and Dean found he had to slow his step to stay beside her. She looked up to him. "We'll give you a minute to see him before he goes in, but only a minute."

"That's fine with me."

They entered another room Dean was unfamiliar with and saw his brother laid out on a gurney. He still looked the same since he left him, only his eyes were taped shut and his hair pulled back in a navy blue cap. He had more I.V. tubes connected, an oxygen mask placed over his mouth and nose, and the bandages removed. Dean moseyed over to the gurney and took Sam's hand into his own.

"It's ok, dude. They're gonna make ya all better, so you won't be pumped full of lead anymore. Too bad we can't get to see how many metal alarms you could set off," he joked. He shook his head. "Sorry. Don't listen to me. You stay with us Sammy, ya hear? Or I will so resurrect your ass…again. Sorry I shouldn't joke about that either. You see what I'm turning into little brother? A big sap! But…uh…please, you get better. And I'll be right here beside you one way or another."

Bobby stepped up beside him placing a hand on his shoulder. He took Sam's hand after Dean removed his. "Listen to your brother Sammy. He's a damn stubborn idgit at times, but he knows what he is saying most of the time. Stick with us boy. Be strong. Don't leave us. Dean's bound to go off like the world's firework's festival if ya don't," he narrowed his vision at the sleeping boy. "Don't make me live with that."

"It's like we're saying goodbye," Dean laughed nervously, "We're not Sammy. We'll see ya when ya get out."

"Okay, I'm sorry to say this, but it's time," the nurse spoke.

Dean nodded. He gave Sam's hand one last squeeze before heading out with Bobby hot on his heels. The many nurses who remained behind wheeled Sam's gurney out and they all disappeared behind a pair of steel doors. The kind nurse they happened to know as Caylee led the two hunters up a flight of stairs, down a short hallway and into another room with a broad window in front. Dean strolled forward quickly and sat in a cushioned chair closest to the window.

Caylee had said something to Bobby he couldn't quite register before leaving them. Bobby strolled over and sat, slouching in the chair preparing for the long haul. Dean glanced at him once then focused on the team down below hooking Sam up to several monitors set around them. He cringed when two nurses stuck a long tube down Sam's throat. He couldn't imagine how that felt. He remembered a long time ago when they were involved in the car wreck what it felt like when the doctors pulled a tube out of his throat. It wasn't pleasant. They covered Sam with a blue plastic cover exposing his bare abdomen.

The scene below them unfolded as both the surgeons picked up the necessary equipment. A nurse came over and showed them an X-ray. The doctors nodded and then set to work. Dean's upper lip curled in disgust as he watched them slice into the flesh, carefully peeling back the layers and pulling the fragments out with forceps. The observatory they sat in was not far away, but with the staff all huddled around his brother, it made it nearly impossible to see clearly. Luckily, they had a video screen above their heads and Dean found himself watching that instead.

Dean clammed his eyes shut every time the screen showed red inflamed pus-filled areas of Sam's stomach. He wasn't the squeamish type, but what he saw happening to his brother might be an exception. He lost count of the times he had to turn away, because the sight was nauseating. He found himself occasionally glance at Bobby who appeared to be in the same boat as him. If anything, the man looked worse. He might actually blow chunks.

"You know the can's over there," Dean announced pointing to a plastic bin in the far corner of the room.

Bobby gave him an annoyed glare. "I'm going to get some coffee. Want any?"

"Sure."

Bobby got up and left the room in a hurry. Dean shook his head with a small smirk planted on his face turning back to the window. The doctor's kept making tiny slices into the holes, pulling out dozens of fragment shards. So far, half of a small metallic bin was filled with lead and metal pieces.

An insatiable hatred for the men who shot his brother sprouted, burrowing deep within his gut. The pain Sam endured while being on his own or the pain he was going to feel afterwards made him shudder. All Sam was trying to do was save people. He would never deliberately try to hurt anyone. He knew his brother. Sam would never hurt a fly if there were no need for it. So why would someone do this to him? He couldn't help but feel satisfaction at the demise of the two bastards who shot Sam. He was glad something else did it to them, or else he would have had a real reason for going to Hell.

The hours crept by at an excruciating pace. He glanced at his watch and saw that five hours or so had passed. The doctors were still working on Sam's abdomen. It seemed like they haven't made any progress, but the second bin of metallic shards told him otherwise. He got up to stretch his legs and stimulate the blood flow in his ass. The tingling sensation prickling up and down his backside felt worse standing up, but he had to work it out. Soon he found himself pacing, a usual habit he decided he didn't like, but also felt like he could do nothing else.

A couple more hours passed. The team of doctors rotated and another surgeon had picked up the job. Bobby passed out a little while ago, his neck at a weird angle with several coffee cups strewn around him on the floor.

Dean sat back down and continued to watch. The staff dropped the pair of forceps and scissors into a watery basin. Dean perked up believing it was over and he couldn't help but feel relieved when they started the stitching. It took the doctors about half an hour to stitch up the incisions and apply some foamy dressing over the area.

Dean felt his stomach drop, however, when they turned his sibling over and began working on the shoulder. _Damn, this is too much!_ He slunk down in the now despised chair and waited. This apparently was his punishment for what he did to Sam and he knew it. He just prayed that nothing worse would occur.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed since then. A nasty feeling blossomed in the pit of his stomach and he grimaced. He tried to rub it out, but to no avail. It continued to wriggle, making him extremely uncomfortable. That was when he heard sirens and alarms going off inside the unit. He jumped up and his eyes widened with horror as he saw the staff shout and point, quickly turning Sam over on his back. He saw someone to the right roll over a crash cart.

Before he was fully aware of his actions, he felt his legs jettison him from the room. He flew down the stairs at ludicrous speed, bursting through a pair of steel doors. He ran into a couple orderlies, knocking them over. No one was going to stand in his way. He found a room with a set of steel doors labeled **Surgery** and he ran headlong into them.

"SAMMY!"

The staff all looked up when he ran in. He froze when the main surgeon called out "again". Everyone's hands flew up and Sam's body arched off the bedspread.

A male nurse ran over and pushed him back yelling, "Get out."

The demand pushed him out of his reverie and he yelled again fighting with the man.

The doctors shocked Sam again. The line on the monitor continued to read flat.

Dean rushed forward knocking a couple staff members out of the way and grabbed Sam's hand. "Sammy. Sammy. Don't do this."

"Get back. We need to shock him again," the surgeon yelled angrily.

Dean ignored the doctor's shout, he held onto Sam's hand tighter. "I'm right here Sammy. I'm right HERE."

The surgeon shook his head, baring his teeth, "Again." He applied the paddles to Sam's bare chest and pushed the buttons. Sam's body arched high. Dean's body shuddered as he felt the terrible burn travel up his hand and throughout the rest of his body. It settled and he looked back at the screen. There was a rhythm. It sounded like music to his ears and he forgot all about the aftermath burning sensation. His brother was back.

"BP 90 over 65 and rising, doctor," a nurse announced.

"Ok, prep him, let's give him a dose of atropine. Let's make sure his heart won't give out again," the surgeon ordered handing the electric paddles over to an orderly. He then started spouting off orders that Dean couldn't comprehend. He felt a hand on his bicep and he turned to face Caylee, who seemed unperturbed by his actions.

"Come on. Sam's in good hands. You need to let them finish up."

His eyes bored into her chocolate orbs and found no hint of deception. He trusted her and let her lead him away and out of the room. Bobby came running up to the door as they exited and hunched over apparently out of breath. "Wha…'appened?"

"Sam crashed," his voice hitched.

"What? How? Why?"

"I don't know, but we better not wait for long to find out."

* * *

_A little while later:_

"Doc! Doc! What happened? What's going on?" Dean screeched wildly at the doctor when he came into the waiting room.

Dr. Stevens took off his mask. "You're brother crashed. His heart stopped."

"Well, I know that. But why? Why did his heart stop?"

"We believe his heart was weakened and has been for quite some time. We ran a culture of your brother's blood and the results came back as an unfamiliar bacterial strain surrounding the pericardium…"

"You and your doctor talk! What the hell does that mean?"

The doctor took a deep breath before continuing, apparently annoyed at Dean's outburst. "It means the layer of tissue surrounding your brother's heart had been infected and it severely weakened the organ." He took another deep breath. "We're not for sure how long it has been like this. But right now, it's barely pumping. We have our suspicions that the bacteria came from the claws of whatever attacked him. And we believe that he overexerted his heart muscle possibly when he was trying to escape. There was no sign of anything wrong until after he recovered from hypothermia. Since the strain is unfamiliar, we have him on extra antibiotics to take care of it, but it won't matter for the heart."

"So what do we do now?"

"First and foremost the heart needs to rest. So with your permission, I'd like to try a device. It's called a LAVD or Left Ventricular Assist Device. It's mainly used for transplant patients, giving them more time to wait for an available organ. Essentially, it keeps the blood pumping throughout the body by bypassing the right ventricle. It gives it a break."

"Okay, for how long?"

"I like to be conservative. So I want to have him on it for at least a day, two days at the most."

Dean bit his lip and gave a short nod. He wasn't quite sure what the doctor said, but the main point was he said that Sammy's heart stopped and is barely functioning. What do you say to that? What do you do? How do you tell yourself that everything is going to be okay when the situation looked so bleak? "Alright, just do what you 've got to do."

Dean watched the doctor quickly stroll out the door. Then suddenly he felt his legs grow weak and give out from under him causing him to plummet to the floor.

"DEAN," Bobby cried out. He swiftly went to the boy's side and lifted him into a sitting position. "Dean," he shook his shoulders when he didn't respond. "Dean, snap out of it."

Dean grimaced at the man's tone. He felt so weak and useless. He didn't want to do anything else but lie there.

"I'm calling for some help," Bobby said desperately.

Bobby's statement brought him out of his daze. "No…no, don't do that."

"Then pull yourself together. Sam's not dead. He needs you right now!" Bobby exclaimed, wrapping his broad arms around Dean's torso.

Dean breathed heavily peering into the man's soft blue eyes. "Yeah…I…I guess you're right."

"Alright, c'mon, let's get you up," Bobby said slowly lifting him from the ground and plopping him in a chair. He leaned forward and stared at him with a stern seriousness Dean only thought his father was capable of pulling off. "Dean, when was the last time you had anything to eat…or slept for that matter?"

Dean suddenly found himself looking away from the man, unable to answer him. Truth was, the last time he had anything to eat was the snack he had back at the cabin with Rufus. But he wasn't going to tell Bobby that. "I don't know."

"Boy, you need to stop doing that to yourself. One of these days you're going to crash and it ain't gonna be anyone's fault but yours, ya hear me?"

"Yea, Bobby I hear ya," Dean replied tiredly.

"Good, you sit tight and I'll get you something to eat, okay?"

He left leaving Dean to his miserable thoughts alone. Dean wanted nothing more than to punch something, but he realized he had no spit left for anything. He couldn't even stand on his own two feet. There was nothing else to do, so he sat patiently waiting for his mentor to return.

Some time later, Bobby stared fixedly at the boy across from him barely nibbling the sandwich he brought him. At times as he sat there, he contemplated about shoving the darn thing down his throat. But that probably wouldn't solve anything. Dean would probably just upchuck it and call it a day. He took a swig of the soda he bought and slouched more in his chair. The daily routine of waiting to hear about Sam's condition was becoming a daily companion to his mind. All he could do was wait and plan out Dean's ass kicking, though it seemed like he wouldn't need to since the kid was doing a great deal to himself.

The door opened again and inside stepped Dr. Stevens. The man's expression seemed lighter than it had been in the previous days. "Everything went smooth. You can see him now if you like. And there is no time limit. You can stay with him."

"Oh thank you. Thanks doc," Dean said gratefully discarding the barely eaten food in a trashcan.

"It's no problem. Follow me."

They followed him at a brisk pace down the familiar hallway. Instead of taking the usual right leading to the ICU unit, the doctor lead them down another hallway, through a pair of doors labeled **Recovery.** They passed along several more doors until finally they came to room 416D. Dr. Stevens paused and turned to them.

"Now I know you're more than anxious to see him, but I do have to warn you, the machines we have him on might scare you a little bit-"

"Doc, we can't get any more scared than we are right now. So save yourself the daunting speech and let's see him," Dean interrupted.

"Surely," he answered before opening the door.

Dean stilled at seeing his little brother again. Sam looked paler than he had last seen him and he was on a ventilator again. A new machine cart stood to the side with tubes filled with his brother's blood penetrating in his torso. White-ladened bandages covered most of his upper body, probably to hide the hideous sight of tubes protruding from Sam's flesh. Dean saw the crimson liquid continuously gush through the apparatus, slightly cringing understanding that a machine was keeping his brother alive.

"Now the machine is battery operated. We had a tube inserted into the upper part of his abdomen and it was inserted into the left ventricle and the aorta. The pump draws the blood from the left ventricle, takes it through this cycle," he pointed at the machine, "and it sends the blood through the aorta, so it can get to the rest of the body. So the rest of his heart, essentially, is taking it easy. That's what we want. Now Caylee or I will come in periodically and check the bandages and the pump. We also will be keeping an eye out for infection and keep close tabs on his antibiotics. I suggest to you all to get some rest. He's not going anywhere for a while. Don't worry, he's still in good hands."

_How many times is he going to say that?_ Dean thought bitterly. He gave a great heavy sigh wondering about the doctor's vote of confidence, curious if the man was actually confident in his skills, or was just being arrogant. But the likeliness of this doctor being cocky was like celebrating Christmas on St. Patty's day. The man has shown nothing else but concern for his brother's well being and didn't treat Sam like a number, and Dean was appreciative of it, even if he didn't show it. Rubbing the side of his face, he walked over and routinely pulled up a chair next to Sam's bed. Bobby courteously thanked the doctor for all he had done and Dr. Stevens left.

Dean picked up Sam's limp hand and began to rub circles over the soft flesh with his thumb. He immediately became entranced by the machine's work. At first, he thought the tubes were gross, but it turned out he became fascinated by them. He heard a grunt and a chair skid over the floor. He looked up and saw Bobby sit down in a chair across the room. He tilted his head back over the edge and placed his cap over his eyes. Dean didn't blame him. This was the beginning of another long haul.


	11. Chapter 11

**Okay, forewarning: this chapter is a little weird. But it poses some more light-hearted brother moments and storytime. :)**

* * *

The next day crept by at an agonizingly slow pace, much like the way the surgery went. Sam was still hooked up to his machine and had not moved an inch since Dean came in. Dean wasn't sure what he was expecting. Perhaps for Sam to miraculously open his eyes and everything will be right again in the land of Bethlehem. He didn't know, especially if Sam were to wake up at that very moment. He was completely dumbstruck of what he would say to him. And he grew increasingly uneasy, because soon Sam would wake up and he didn't know how he was going to respond.

He hadn't moved much from Sam's bedside except for the occasional trip to the restroom. Since then he had nothing to keep him occupied besides a crappy magazine, which he skimmed over what felt like a hundred times (he could probably recite some of the captions), or the old-fashioned television set stationed up high in the room's corner, which he found himself laboriously surfing through its few channels.

Bobby made the habit of coming and going in intervals. His trips taking longer the more times he left out the door. Dean wondered what he was up to. They hadn't spoken to each other much since they were let in. There wasn't much to talk about. But it did leave a void in his heart when Bobby wasn't around. That of which, he would never own up to.

He constantly kept an eye on Sam and watched the machine, waiting desperately for the tubes to be taken out. He gulped, wondering if he could handle it when it was time to take him off the machine. That was the time the doctors had to jump start his heart again, and, of course, in every situation, there was always the chance of the heart not starting up. _Damn Murphy's Law._

Dean's eyes glazed over while watching the George Forman infomercial. He often wondered why Sam found it interesting. But when you were having anxiety attacks every hour or so and couldn't find the need for sleep, it seemed somewhat appropriate. Besides, seeing the grill for sale made him a little hungry.

The door opened stirring him from his thoughts and Bobby once again entered. Instead of strolling over to his usual chair, he came around the bed and confronted Dean.

"I need to talk to you," he said calmly.

Dean eyed him suspiciously before nodding his head, motioning for the man to continue.

"I've been getting calls from a friend, a local hunter named Barry Reagan. You've heard of him?"

"No," Dean replied softly, now aware of Bobby mysterious retreats from the room.

"Well, anyway, he says he heard about the attack on Sam-"

"How's that?" Dean asked eagerly.

"He doesn't directly know its him, but he said he was looking into the mauling reports too and heard that another attack happened the other day, so he called a friend who referred him to me," Bobby explained. He raised a hand to silence him when Dean looked about ready to interrupt. "Don't worry, I didn't tell him I was here, but I did tell him I would help…"

"Why?" Dean screeched.

"Dean, calm down!" The older man hollered back. "The fact is that animal is still out there, and apparently it's too dangerous to keep around. I mean, look at what it nearly did to Sam. And honestly, I'm quite surprised you have opted yet to go out and skin the thing yourself."

"Yeah, I've thought about it," Dean answered serious-minded. "But after what happened to Sam in surgery. I can't leave him for even a minute-"

"I understand Dean, but I need to go. You stay here with Sam and take care of him. I'll take care of it and come back just in time for Sam to wake up, alright?"

Dean fell silent. No words could be formed. He wanted to tell Bobby to not leave him, to stay here with him, keep him together. But the truthfulness to the old man's words weighed down heavily upon him. The monster had to be taken care of, or someone else might die, and that he couldn't bear to have on his conscience. He gazed back up at Bobby, once last time and nodded his approval, secretly hoping the man would see the distressed look in his eyes and agree to stay. Unfortunately, Bobby had not.

"Okay. I know I don't have to tell you this, but take real good care of him, and I should be back soon. Keep yourself together, alright?"

Dean nodded again, fighting back tears.

"Alright, I'm off," Bobby responded, coming over and collecting Sam's limp hand. "Stay strong, boy." And with that, he left out the door.

Dean smacked his lips and then turned to his brother. "Well, I guess it's just you and me pal. Too bad you can't play cards. Cause secretly I'm going out of my mind here. You better wake up soon, otherwise big bro is gonna find himself some entertainment by bouncin' off padded walls in the psycho ward." He scratched his head.

"It shouldn't be too much longer, Sammy. And then you can say adios to this bad boy," he glanced at the machine, which gave another spurt of fluid. "Ugh…I hope, because I don't think I've ever been this queasy…since ever."

Dean couldn't help but continue to talk. He found it much easier on him, now that Bobby was gone. "Just think about all the new scars you're gonna get. I already got a story cooked up for you to tell the chicks. First, you were in a bank, getting cash or a money order, or whatever it is you normally do…"

_An image of Sam, wearing his usual attire, standing in line at a small bank appeared in his head._

Dean let out a childish snort. "Then suddenly, a huge explosion occurs behind you…" his voiceover said in the daydream. "There were several screams and shouts from scared employees, especially a big blonde teller from behind the desk."

_The scene appeared where all the banks occupants crouched down low, shielding their faces from the shower of glass, dust, and debris. Sam scanned around the area, squinting through the haze of dust. He stood up and saw the bank teller with huge, blonde hair swathed in large curls, voluptuous lips and astonishing blue eyes and a slender body: the typical damsel in distress screaming for a burly man to come save her._

"And then some psycho freak comes in looking like something you find out of a Van Damme movie…"

_The dust clears and a mid-tall man walked forth wearing navy-blue stealth army attire. His hair was curled back into an Ace Ventura style and he bore a claw on his left hand. _

"All his cronies dressed just like him swept through the place and held each and everyone by gunpoint. And the dude said some crazy cliché shit like 'hand me the money' in this thick French accent…"

"_Hand me ze monay and zo-one will gez 'urt," the man said walking straightforward. He smacked the blonde across the face, glaring down at her menacingly._

"And of course, Sammy, you're a Winchester. You just gonna let some punk-nose M. Bison wannabe ruin your day, nah…"

_Sam stood up to his fullest height, aware that all the cronies' guns were now on him. He strolled casually up to the villain. "Hey asshole."_

"_Who ze the hell are you?" the villain sneered, eying him with disgust._

"Then out of the blue, gun fire erupted all over the place, all aiming for you…yes, I know I skipping the whole boring monologue introduction bit. But anyway you, no, you were like superman, faster than em', dodging them and what not…"

_The place exploded into chaotic pandemonium. People ran slouched towards the ground. Gunfire and small grenades went off, causing wooden objects to burst and papers to fly, coursing through the air. Sam wove around, contorting his body at odd angles, avoiding the bullets just like Neo from the Matrix. _

_A few hostages fled past, and he found himself pushing them down, narrowing avoiding a bullet to his left ear. He saw one of the cronies toss a grenade at him. He caught it and threw it back at the man, turning around just in time for the device to go off. He screamed when a few shards from the glass window exploded and embedded themselves in his shoulder._

"But that's okay, you didn't let it get you down one bit. You turned around and saw that the grenade had taken down the cronies. Cuz they were pansy asses…"

_Sam grabbed the hostages he pushed down and slid them towards the back of the desk. "Stay down, and don't move," he ordered. They all nodded with frightened expressions._

"Of course, Frenchie had to take the blonde hostage, trying to maintain control of the situation…"

_Sam stepped out from behind the desk and came face to face with the leader holding the blonde by the throat with his claw to her neck, the other hand grasping her hair. Sam approached him slowly, his hand carefully extended. "Just take it easy. Don't do this," Sam softly, hoping the guy was in a negotiating mood. _

_The man curled the woman closer to him, giving her hair an almighty tug. She reached up and held on to his hand. She let out a whimper, her eyes pleading for Sam to save her. _

"_Stay quiet," he told her. He turned to look back at Sam._

"_Just let her go. If you want, take what you want, just let her go," Sam said to him, slowly walking towards them._

"Just like you Sammy, always got to be the Kevin Spacey. Anyway, unknown to Frenchie, the blonde actually had some guts and she took a…a…what are they called? Whatever. She took something out of her hair and stabbed him with it in the dude's leg, giving you the advantage…"

_The blonde let out another whimper clasping her hair. Frenchie decided to keep his eyes on Sam, unaware that the blonde unhooked a large clip that held a part of her hair in place. She took a deep breath and plunged the sharp end of the clip into her captor's leg. The man howled in pain and threw her to the ground._

_Sam took that moment to lunge forward, grabbing his enemy by the shoulders and began to knee him in his gut. The man hunched forward falling back on his rear. Sam stood there heroically, glowering down at his opponent._

"And as usual in any kind of action movie, the enemy has to have some moves on him…"

_Suddenly, the man caught his breath and jumped up. With speed and agility Sam was not yet prepared for, the man delivered a round kick to his jaw, causing him to stumble backwards. Then he ran forward and swiped his claw at Sam's shoulder. He spiraled downwards and swiped at his calf muscle._

_Sam felt the burn in his shoulder and then immediately in his calf. He saw the wacky man rise and punch him into his stomach. He willed through the pain and grabbed onto the man's shoulder. He threw his head forward and collided it with the other's nose. The man waltzed backwards, grabbing his nose, where blood began to steadily exude. The man looked at Sam and cursed in French._

_One of Frenchie's cronies finally rose up and saw what was happening to his boss. He jumped up and ran for the door. "Boss come on," he yelled fleeing out into the daylight and towards their grand SUV. _

"And you know, Frenchie had to go too. Because he was just too scared of ya…"

_The man stared at Sam with ferocity wanting to have another round. But he glanced at his man who was trying to escape and decided to cut his losses. He quickly ran as fast as he could to the moving SUV. _

_Sam watched the man take off. Still in his hero complex, he immediately dashed after him, intent on serving justice. He had just barely leapt onto the side of the truck when it sped off. _

"The bad guys, they saw you hanging onto the car in the mirrors. So what else are they going to do?"

_Sam held onto the rail nailed tight to the top of the car. He glanced in the side mirror beside the passenger door and saw Frenchie pulling out a sniper gun. Oh no! Sam immediately pressed his foot on the protruding door handle and lifted himself on top of the roof. He latched onto handle rails and held on tight as the driver began to swerve the vehicle from side to side in an attempt to get him off the roof. _

"Short version…the cops show up behind the speeding vehicle and it becomes a big chase. I've always wanted to be in a car chase…and not by some psycho road-ghost…"

_Sam glanced from side to side searching for another option. The wind whipped in his face, searing against his skin. He looked ahead and saw that they entered the highway. _

_Loud sirens from behind alerted him that the authorities had finally showed up and were tailing fast. He realized he had to find someway to stall these monkeys. Sam took a deep breath and began to plan._

"Now here is where it gets really interesting…"

_Suddenly, he caught out of the corner of his eye that Frenchie sat outside of his window aiming the sniper gun at him. Quickly, he spun his leg out kicking Frenchie in his jaw. The Frenchman didn't drop his gun, but instead grab onto the ceiling strap in the door. He took aim again._

_Sam grabbed onto the handle rail and leapt off the top of the car. His body swung and he crashed through into the driver's window, his foot smashing into the driver's face, knocking him out cold. Unfortunately it caused the drivers foot to press harder on the gas, lurching the car forward at fear-inducing speeds. Sam climbed in, receiving minor cuts to his hand and the side of his temple. Frenchie slipped back into his seat and aimed the gun again. Sam kicked his foot out and the gun flew out of Frenchie's hand into the backseat. _

_Frenchie struggled to get into the backseat, but Sam cut him off by grabbing a hold of his head and smashing it into the dashboard. The car jostled from side to side as it swiped the sides of most vehicles on the highway. Sam found it hard to fight with the French man as his body swerved along with the car's movement, sitting on top of the driver, whilst keeping a hand on his nemesis's head. _

_Frenchie struck out with his left hand, clobbering Sam in his jaw. Sam's grip loosened and he took that advantage to grab a hold of Sam's head, smashing it into the steering wheel. Sam kicked out again pounding into Frenchie's chest. Frenchie let out another string of curses in French as he hunched over. _

_A loud beep from a horn stirred Sam from his thoughts and he looked straight ahead, and his face paled. They were heading for the guardrail on a bridge. _

_Sam turned to Frenchie and yelled, "GET OUT!" _

_He opened the driver's door, grabbed the unconscious driver and jumped out. Frenchie jumped out of the passenger side and all three rolled across the pavement as the vehicle drove through the guardrail and into the river below. Sam eventually stopped rolling. He clutched his stomach tenderly, while sitting up watching as the police cars skidded to a halt in front of him._

"And that's all I can think of," Dean said. "And you know Frenchie and his associate were put in jail, you were the big hero, and ta da…chick magnet."

"Applause. Applause," he called out, but was met with the sound of just the machines. Sam had not even flinched during his storytelling. He thought fond of his story and hoped his brother would appreciate it when he woke up. But who knows. He peered at his brother one last time. Soon he couldn't fight the itchiness and fatigue that festered behind his eyes. He gently lowered his head beside Sam's hand and fell into a restless sleep.

* * *

**See? Told ya it was a wierd one. But I hope you enjoyed it all the same. No offense intended to the French of course. ;) We're now back to the action!**


	12. Chapter 12

Dean was woken an hour later by Dr. Stevens. The doctor jumped back in alarm when the young man he prodded leapt out of the chair in a defense position, ready to fight.

"I'm…I'm sorry," he shrieked.

It took Dean a moment to realize that it was the doctor and not some big bad he was fighting in his dream. He rubbed his eyes hard, waiting for them to come back into focus. Slouching back in his chair, he rubbed the sides of his face speaking to the doctor in his hands. "S'okay doc. Just…you scared me is all," he slurred.

"I'm sorry to have woken you, Mr. Carriden. I just wanted to tell you that we'll be taking Sam off the LAVD in a few hours," the doctor explained, slightly calm now that he felt his patient's family member wasn't likely to attack.

"A few hours, really?" Dean exclaimed excitably, his eyes peering at the doctor through tired slits.

"You betcha. I already checked the monitors and his stats and he seems fine. I want to see if this actually gave his heart enough time to rest. We need to get it going again or it might result in tissue death…But don't worry about that," he said seeing the look of fear in Dean's face. "Right now, I'm going to have Caylee come in and redress his wounds. And then I'll see you in a few hours."

"Alright thanks doc," Dean told him looking at his brother again. _Now here comes the gross part._ The doctors had been in frequently checking Sam's wounds and cleaning them. And each time, it never became easier to watch. Each time he had to fight upchucking whatever was in his stomach, which currently nothing floated in the empty cavern. And dry-heaves were certainly a bitch to deal with too!

And right on cue, the friendly nurse came in right after the doctor left the room.

"Hi Dean," she said, her eyes shining with delight. She carried the necessary gauze wraps and antibiotic ointment and laid them down on Sam's bedside table. "How're you holding up?"

"Uh…same," Dean answered twisting in his chair, turning his head towards the window not ready to see the process again, when she started ripping off the tapes that held the bandage in place. That's when he noticed it was dark outside. He hoped Bobby was okay. He didn't think he could handle if another one of his family were on the death.

"It's okay, it'll get better. Dr. Stevens is being very realistic about this and he feels that Sam will make a full recovery. He believes it so…that should be something," she said reassuringly, unwrapping the sticky gauze from Sam's side. She giggled when Dean grimaced at the mess on Sam's abdomen.

"Yeah…I guess…ugh." The sight was nauseating. "That comes easy to you?"

"Yep!" She piped up enthusiastically, wiping away some of the blood that spilt from one of the stitches.

"Oh, more power to ya."

"You know, if you want, you can go get something to eat and come back. I should be done by then," she suggested.

"Uh…I don't know. I don't like to leave him alone for even a minute…"

"But he won't be alone. Seriously Dean, you look like crap and you need to take care of yourself or you won't be able to protect him."

Dean's brow creased. "How'd you…why do you…I'm not protecting him."

Caylee gave him a disbelieving smirk, raising one of her eyebrows. "Please Dean, I see overprotective family members everyday, and with the way you hover next to him, refusing to move an inch and the way you've been hounding the doctors lately, it fits." She laughed at his wounded expression. "You don't have to explain yourself. It comes natural. I remember when my little cousin was in the hospital. I stuck by her side and no one, and I mean _no one_ could pry me from her side. But I also do remember that I had to take care of myself too, or else my protectiveness was worth nothing, do you see what I'm saying?"

"Yeah," he answered gazing at her more interested than he had been before.

"So please, go get something to eat. Get some coffee, and when you come back, not only will you feel better, but you also won't have to see me do this," she replied squirting ointment on Sam's stomach. "Okay?" she smiled.

"No seriously, I'm fine."

Caylee rolled her eyes. "Dean. I know you're hungry. Heck, you're stomach growls are enough to wake up a coma patient. So please just go, it won't take that long."

Dean let out a heavy sigh. The truth was he could definitely go for something to eat. Hell, he could probably eat a zebra herd and then some and still be hungry. He weighed his options carefully. Deep down he wanted to leave for just a minute, but the constant foreboding feeling was playing with his head.

"Ooh, look at this. Do you see this?" Caylee asked playfully, completely taking off the rest of the bandage revealing to Dean the aftermath of Sam's surgery. "I don't think I've seen this much blood and pus before."

Dean felt his stomach rumble and for a fleeting moment, he went cross-eyed. Damn broad knew how to play. _Fine!_ "Alright Caylee, you win this round. I'll go, but only for a minute…"

"Five minutes," Caylee demanded.

"Two," he stood his ground. The bargaining deal was more of his thing.

"Three and a half."

"Three."

"Three and a half."

"Three and that's final."

"Then you're not getting back in," she smiled curtly.

"How's that?"

"I know the janitor."

Dean huffed. "Fine, three and a half." Dean gave off his most playful frown and stomped from the room.

Caylee smiled again when she heard the door shut. "I got to hand it to you Sam, you've done well dealing with him all these years. But you're brother's a really great guy. Wish my brother was like that," she said smearing more ointment over the sores.

She heard the door open again. Without looking up, she called out. "Dean, the three minutes are not up. And no, a trip to the vending machine does not count as a meal, so get on out of…" she turned around and froze. The man who entered was not Dean. He was a scrawny African American with dark thick eyebrows and short curly hair.

She squared her shoulders and pronounced. "I'm sorry sir, but visiting hours are over. Only family members are permitted at this time."

The man eyed her sparingly. Then his gaze traveled over and rested on Sam lying in the bed. His dark lips curled into a devilish smile, revealing large pearly white teeth.

Caylee was not easily intimidated. But the man's sinister aura and pulsing vibe he gave off made her feel incredibly uncomfortable. For a fleeting second, she could've sworn his eyes flashed the color of coal black. She ignored it striding towards him rapidly taking off her gloves. "I'm sorry, but you have to leave, now."

Suddenly the man grabbed her by the scruff of her hair, jerked her around and threw her out of the room. He locked the door in time for her to rebound. She rammed her body into the door a few times, twisting the knob with all her might. When all her efforts were proven in vain, she peeked through the small window on the door and saw the man walk around Sam's bed. Abandoning her efforts, she immediately raced to the nearest phone.

* * *

Dean stepped off the elevator with a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and a large meaty sandwich that would make PETA cringe in the other. He rounded the corner and froze when he saw Caylee at the nurse's desk snatching up a phone. He marched up to her angry.

"Caylee, what the hell? You said you wouldn't leave Sam alone."

"I didn't," she responded angrily. "Some man threw me out. I'm calling security."

The blood drained from Dean's face and his eyes widened. Everything at that moment seemed to have slowed down. He dropped the coffee and sandwich and raced to Sam's room, slamming into the door. He rammed into the door again, but it wouldn't budge. He looked through the window and his stomach dropped.

"RUFUS!"

Rufus smiled again and waved, his eyes switching to black. He laughed when Dean tried kicking in the door, and pulled out a knife.

"NO! NO!" Dean screamed. "SAM!"

He glanced left and right looking for another option. Then his eyes rested on a red emergency box. He ran over to it and found an axe enclosed within it. He kicked into the glass with all his might several times. Finally the glass gave way and shattered. He wasted no time in pulling the instrument out and ran back to the room.

"MOVE," he yelled to the security officers surrounding the door attempting to get in with their keys. They didn't need to be told twice and leapt back quickly as he swung the axe's head, placing a crack in the door. He took another swing and continued to do so furiously without stopping screaming his brother's name. Sweat dripped off his head and his muscles bulged, screaming at the effort, but he didn't stop. The crowd of officers and staff stood back transfixed at the scene. The nurse Caylee stood off to the side with her hands over her mouth, horrified.

"SAM," Dean hollered again putting all his weight into the next swing. A hole exploded from the impact within the doorframe, showering everybody in close proximity in wooden shards. The laughter he heard in the room instantly died. Desperately, Dean stuck a foot through and climbed through the hole. "GET AWAY FROM HIM!" He bellowed wielding the axe over his shoulder.

The possessed vessel swung his arm out and the axe was wrenched from Dean's grip. The demon nodded his head and Dean felt an invisible force smack into him and he flew backwards, pinned against the wall. He struggled, but to no avail, his body would not move. He glared at his nemesis dangerously. "You hurt him and so help me God…"

"But Dean," the demon cut him off, "I don't want to hurt him…" He teased lowering the knife underneath one of Sam's tubes, "I want to kill him." He pulled the blade up, cutting off the cord.

"NOOO…" Dean screamed terrified, watching the blood -Sam's blood- spurt out of the tube, drenching his sibling. The monitors instantly sounded off a terrifying cacophony with the numbers on the screen indicating his brother's vitals interchanging colors. "NO…YOU SON OF A BITCH!"

The demon laughed cutting off the next cord.

"NOOO…SAMMY," Dean screamed again, wriggling against the demonic force.

"I'm just returning the favor for all the crap this little shit has put us through. Had us running scared for too long. At least the boss will be happy."

Caylee turned away from the horror pissed. After a quick glance around, she saw the staff, the nurses, the doctors, hell even the security guards were scared stiff and apparently not willing to do anything. If everyone was just a bunch of cowards, then so be it: she didn't have to be. She stomped over to a security guard with her teeth clenched.

"Give me that," she ordered snatching the gun out of the guard's weapon holster.

The guard caught her arm wheeling her around. "That's against regulation."

An angry glint appeared in the nurse's eye and she swung around, throwing all her weight into a punch with the gun in hand, bludgeoning the man in his temple. The man was unconscious before he hit the ground. "Regulate that," she seethed running over to the door.

She aimed the gun through the hole in the door and pulled the trigger. The black man's body shuddered, stumbling back a few steps. She felt that was the opportune time to clamber through the hole. Her foot snagged on the splintered edge, but it didn't cause her to lose her aim. She targeted the man again and shot two more times, each time hitting their mark in his left shoulder.

She watched dreadfully as he straightened back up and approached her smiling. It was like he was immune to the gunshots. "What the hell…"

Rufus waved his arm and sent the girl crashing through the door. More screams echoed throughout the halls and people scurrying back and forth. He went back to Sam's side.

"DEMON, you son of a bitch, leave him alone!" Dean screamed again struggling against the force.

The demon laughed again. "Say goodbye to your brother Dean," he said lowering his blade to the base of Sam's neck.

"NOOOOO…."

With that, he slid the blade across the soft flesh, relishing at the sight of his enemies blood and life ebbing away.


	13. Chapter 13

"NOOOO…SAMMY!" cried Dean as he watched more blood flow from his baby brother. He squirmed against the demon's invisible force, but it was no use. He was going to watch his brother die. Much like Sam had to watch him die. He couldn't bear it. Tears built up and fell down his cheeks in a steady rhythm. "NOOOO…PLEASE."

The demon laughed again tilting the blade downward pointing it at Sam's heart. He was ready to finish the youngest Winchester off for good. He smiled again before lifting his hand and plunging it down.

**CRASH**

The outer window burst inward in a hailstorm fury and a dark figure flew in colliding with the demon, knocking him over Sam's bed. A long, ebony curtain flowed in the room blocking the figure from view. Dean heard a loud grunt and a "sonuvabitch". The figure finally came into the light and was revealed to be Bobby.

Bobby threw the curtain away and stalked up to Rufus, who stumbled to his feet. He slid the glock back on his shotgun and pulled the trigger, the rock salt hitting the being square in the chest. Rufus's body flew back, slamming into the jade green wall and slid down into a heap on the floor. Bobby approached him fast and kicked his jaw upward.

Dean suddenly felt the force hugging him to the wall dissipate and he slumped to the floor. He immediately jumped up and ran over to his brother. He grabbed a hold of the swiveling tube and brought the end down on the cut end, applying the same procedure with the second cord.

Blood gushed over his hands and sprinkled over his face. He glanced behind him at the wailing machine and saw Sam's BP was steadily dropping into the low fifties. He didn't need to be a cardiac surgeon to understand what that meant. He stole his gaze away, fearing it might break his psyche.

More blood pooled around Sam's neck and Dean let out a heartbreaking cry. He couldn't handle the tubes and the slit throat all at the same time. Needing to think of something quick, he lowered his shoulder down and pressed it down over the bleeding wound. _Please somebody quick. I don't know how much longer he can hold like this._ The numbers on the machine kept declining rapidly until Sam's vitals read zero.

Bobby continued to kick the struggling vessel in the face or anywhere the demon would leave open. The shotgun lay on the floor after the old man discarded it from concluding it was empty and useless. Amidst his constant ass kicking, he threw his flask of holy water over the creature. Horrible shrieks issued from the man's throat as steam billowed off the sizzling flesh. "Soak it up, you demonic piece of shit." He kicked him again in the gut.

"Get up," he ordered dangerously throwing the empty canister to the side. He picked up the gasping man and lifted his leg, forcing the demon to hunch over. The demon let out a laugh peering up at the old man. He suddenly threw a punch, hitting its mark in Bobby's jaw. Bobby quickly recovered and saw the demon start to lift his hand to use its power.

"Ah hell no!" Bobby hollered picking up the chair next to his leg and smashing it over the man's head. The demon stumbled backwards, losing it's concentration on conjuring it's power.

"You want to pick on a helpless boy. Fine. But remember…he's…got…family!" Bobby snarled plowing his fist into the man's jaw. "And I'm like a _fucking_ hurricane."

The man's black eyes shown with fear as the old hunter threw another punch across his face. Bobby wouldn't allow him the chance of gaining the upper hand; he was too pissed off for that. He hooked one hand under the demon's arm, and the other grappling the back of the man's pants. "You think the Winchester's were bad, you ain't met me yet," Bobby half-shouted. He twirled the demonic vessel in a circle then lifted him out of the broken window. The man shouted and squirmed all the way down.

Panting from the adrenaline rushing through his system, he turned a concerned gaze towards Sam's still body and then to the door. "GET IN HERE," he bellowed to the doctors standing stock still outside the door. They jerked upwards from fright and hustled about like chickens with their heads cut off, gathering whatever equipment and medicine within an arm's reach.

Bobby came over to Dean and helped him hold the tubes in place.

Dean sniffled. He turned his blood-shot eyes on Bobby, pleading, searching for a sign of hope. His lip quivered and he whispered, "He's g-gone Bobby. He's g-gone."

"Don't say that Dean. HURRY UP!" He screeched angrily.

Dean couldn't control his emotions and he lowered his head onto Sam's shoulder. "He's gone. S-sammy's dead. Sammy's dead. O-oh God."

* * *

"How is he?"

"Not good."

"He's…"

"In shock. He has barely slept and hasn't eaten in days since his brother first came in and since the incident, his body went into overdrive and he crashed. He's slightly catatonic now, completely unresponsive to stimuli. He hasn't moved in the last sixteen hours."

"What about the uncle?"

"Still vigilant as ever. He's keeping an eye on him right now. He's just as shocked as the brother, and he keeps barking orders every time someone else other than me and another nurse comes into the room. I don't blame him. This should never have happened."

"And the assailant?"

"We don't know. He disappeared. He was nowhere to be found, which I find really odd. He took a drop out of four-story window, and there was no body. So please look into that. He might have friends out there."

"Did you manage to save the patient?"

"Barely. We were able to sustain the blood flow. No oxygen was cut off, but he is on life support."

"What do you do suggest from this point on?"

"I don't know. I'm going to go speak with the uncle right now and decide a course of action with the brothers from there. But I guess, increase security. Whoever wanted that boy dead, they might try again and I don't think the brother or their uncle can handle it a second time. Make sure that happens."

"We'll be right on that."

"Thank you Officer Gibbons," Dr. Stevens shook the officer's beefy hand and proceeded down the hallway back towards the room he dreaded all evening.

Without intent on knocking, he strolled right in the room to see the nurse Caylee kneeling beside a figure curled up in the far corner of the room. The uncle stood over Sam's bed holding onto the boy's hand. He came over to the corner and knelt beside Caylee, taking out his penlight and shining it into the brother's mossy-green eyes. The pupils showed a slow reaction in dilation and he continued to stare absent-mindedly in front of him. His brother's blood was still splattered over his face and covered mostly his hands and white tee shirt.

The nurse Caylee gave the doctor a concerned glance. Dr. Stevens was astonished that she had hung around after what she endured. She had a bandage on the side of her head and several scrapes and scratches on the side of her face evident from bursting through the door and slamming into the corridor wall. But she seemed careless of her injuries and intent on caring for the patient at hand. He was amazed at her tenacity. She gave him another glance and he stood up, crossing over to the bed stand. He opened the drawer and pulled out a pressure cuff. He came back over and took the boy's blood pressure.

Seeing the numbers on the gauge, he was little concerned plus a little relieved. The most important aspect was that he was alive, still struggling to keep his sanity, whatever he had left. "Okay Caylee, I think I know what to do, but we need him cleaned up, okay?"

Caylee nodded and pulled Dean's arm out of his hold. His arm went limp in her hands and she gazed at the doctor for help. It was asinine if he thought she could manage to drag his heavy figure all the way to the bathroom on the opposite side of the room. Dr. Stevens nodded in understanding and pulled on his other arm, and both lifted him, with great difficulty, to his feet.

Bobby came over and aided in the arduous task of carrying Dean to the bathroom. The limp body made no motive nor any inclination of moving. Bobby held firmly onto his legs, whispering, "Come on Dean, snap out of it."

Caylee's face turned crimson from the strain of heaving his heavy body. Dr. Stevens kept calling out "almost there", encouraging her to keep moving. Eventually, they made it to the small room, sitting him on the protruding ledge made for people with disabilities overtop a rectangular tub. Caylee motioned to them that she could take it from there, and the two men left, closing the door softly.

Caylee crossed over to the seat and retrieved a white cloth stationed inside a cabinet underneath the sink. In there, consisted of other washcloths, bandages, and an extra supply of over-the-counter ointment. She soaked the cloth under hot water and walked back over to Dean and began wiping the blood spurts off his face. He didn't flinch, when she rubbed the cloth harshly in one area to remove the sticky dots, and it somewhat bothered her. Her heart went out for the man recognizing the forlorn despondency he now exhibited. She figured there had to be more to his behavior.

"Sam's your only family left, isn't he?" she asked softly, not really expecting him to answer, but never giving up hope either.

When he continued to act oblivious, she let out a heavy sigh, gently bringing the cloth over his brow.


	14. Chapter 14

Bobby came over and sat back in his recently vacated seat next to Sam. He looked on with a forlorn expression at the ventilator pumping oxygen into the poor boy's lungs. He stole his eyes away and peered into the doctor's, searching for any kind of consolation. Now he had two boys to worry about. The other he feared for more, knowing how fragile Dean can be when it came to Sam's well being. He hated this more than anything and he cursed his old age allowing this kind of stress to somehow debilitate him. "What do we do now, doc?"

Dr. Stevens squared his shoulders. "Apparently your nephew is out of commission. His body is overwhelmed and we need to supply it with nutrients and fluids. Ultimately he needs to rest and we can do so with sedatives. But we can't risk that, until he comes out of his stupor. With that, we can give him some Lorazepam. It's a drug inserted into the muscles and typically patients come out of their state within an hour. If he does become responsive, we can administer the sedative. _Only_ if he comes out."

Bobby nodded his head in affirmation understanding what the man was telling him.

"I can arrange a cot to be set up in here, knowing how he reacts. That way we can keep a close eye on both of them and you won't be separated," the doctor explained calmly.

"Okay, thanks doc," Bobby rubbed the side of his tired face, adjusting his tattered cap. "Uh…what about Sam?"

The doctor sighed heavily. "There's nothing we can do for right now…"

"Don't tell me that doc," Bobby blurted sullenly.

"Like I said, for right now, there's nothing we can do. He lost a fair amount of blood, about two liters to be exact. And so he needs a blood transfusion…don't worry, we already have him on the list," he defended when the uncle slunk down further in his chair in despair. "He's has a very unique blood type that, to be honest, this hospital just ran out of. So we have to wait for a new shipment to arrive, and sometimes we do have to wait for donors. As for the life support, I want to keep him on it until then, obviously."

Bobby continued to stare tensely into the man's cool eyes, as if waiting for him to continue with the diagnostic.

Dr. Stevens obliged. "Since his heart was technically not working when the incident happened, the heart was not damaged. It's working fine now, that it received some rest and I believe that the antibiotics took care of the bacteria. So it's good he won't have to fight that. Though I stress that cautiously. I'm going to keep him on the antibiotics just in case. And the slit throat, the damage is not as bad as it looks. The knife barely cut through the trachea, and missed the thyroid. He just lost a lot of blood from it. In a little while, I'll come in and stitch it up. Hopefully, there will be little scarring. As for his overall condition, I cannot give you a precise account, but I can tell you he is still fighting. It's up to him now. We'll do all that we can."

"Okay, what are we doing about security?"

"We've increased it. And the authorities have prolonged their investigation, looking into the attack on your nephew…"

Bobby huffed. "Great, we don't need this," he whispered rubbing the side of his face.

"Like I said earlier, they won't get anywhere near him or you for questioning. But they're just looking more into the case, so hopefully another attack won't happen."

Bobby snorted at the doctor's statement. _They're demons. They'll get in if they want to._ He sighed realizing what he had to do. He gazed directly into the doctor's eyes once again more sternly. "You deal with odd cultural elements everyday, right?"

The doctor gulped, fearing the man's hardened gaze. "Yes, so to speak."

"Good. We use specific protective measures, special relics and materials, for our own reasons. I'm going to bring some in and put them all around this room. I don't want to hear any questions, any snide remarks, and I don't want anyone to mess with them, or even touch them, is that clear?"

"Yes sir."

"Good," Bobby replied switching his gaze back on Sam's still form. The doctor, feeling out of place and un-needed, left the room to grab the suggested medicine for the other brother.

The bathroom door opened and Caylee's head popped out. "Uh, Mr. Singer, does Dean have any other clothes?"

Bobby eyes widened realizing the seriousness of her question. Yeah, Dean does, but they were in the trunk of the Impala. And he had no idea where Dean put the keys. He decided he would've had to pick the lock anyways, and left immediately. Now would be a great time to collect the protection materials anyway.

Once Bobby had left the room, Caylee closed the bathroom door feeling it was time to give Dean a bath. He needed new clothes and she surmised using a hospital gown would not be in his best interest if he ever were to wake up from his stupor.

She turned around to face him, but paused. He looked different than he had a moment ago. He looked so innocent and helpless now. It was disturbing. Only hours ago he was the all-around American badass, protecting his family. Now he was the defenseless civilian that needed protection. It was a weird transition that she hoped she would never have to see again.

She ignored her paralytic sympathy for the man and went back by his side. He sat on the ledge; his body slumped against the wall, staring mindlessly in front. It was like he was in his own safe world, finding solace in things only he can understand -like securing yourself in a void and never coming out. In a small disturbing way, she envied him.

She pulled his bloodstained shirt over his head and let it fall next to them. She then began the arduous task of removing his jeans. It was difficult, but in the end, she managed to snag the ends off his feet. Out of relief, she blew the soft tendrils of dark hair that fell out of place away from her head, throwing the jeans on top of the shirt. Next came the exciting part. She bent down over the tub and rotated the knob on the faucet, allowing the tub to fill up.

The door opened and Dr. Stevens entered.

"Oh good," he acknowledged. "I'll just give him this and hopefully after his bath, he'll come around, okay?"

Caylee nodded in understanding, watching the doctor pull out a syringe and fill it with transparent liquid from a small-insulated jar. She recognized it immediately as the drug _Lorazepam,_ something that will hopefully wake Mr. Charming up. The doctor quickly inserted the needle into Dean's hip and plunged the liquid into his bloodstream.

"Alright, that should do it. Here let me help you," he said swinging Dean's bare legs over the tub and gently sliding him into the bath water.

"Let me know when you're done, so we can get him out and onto the cot. If he comes around within half an hour or so, don't do anything, let him sit there and come find me, okay?"

"Yeah, I got it."

"Alright." With that, he left.

Caylee had finished bathing him completely when Bobby popped in with a pair of Dean's sweats and one of his black tees.

"Oh good, I was getting worried," she laughed wiping off the excess water. "Hey, could you help me get him out of the tub, please."

"Yeah, sure," the old man answered, placing the clothes on the toilet seat and rushing forward.

Together they pulled the man out of the tub with great difficulty, setting him back on the ledge. Caylee began patting him off with a fluffy towel. She was not at first embarrassed by his nakedness, but now she could feel her face grow hot. However, she pushed back her ecstatic fantasies feeling pressured under the uncle's scrutiny, quickly finishing the drying process. She threw away the towel and went for Dean's shirt on the toilet. Then a thought struck her.

"Uh, Mr. Singer, I'd hate to ask again. But could you help me get him dressed. He's pretty heavy," she asked innocently.

"Yeah sure," Bobby replied willingly.

Eventually, Dean was dressed. Dr. Stevens returned a few minutes later and all three began the discouraging task of hauling Dean's limp body out of the bathroom and onto the cot stationed along the middle wall and in front of Sam's bed. They laid him down on his side on the soft cotton mattress and waited.

Caylee sat on the floor beside the cot, softly stroking Dean's spiky hair. Her eyes rested on his and refused to leave, daring to even blink.

Bobby finished salting the window and made his way over to the main door, sprinkling some grains along the door's edge. He had painted a few devils' traps under both Sam and Dean's beds, whilst Dr. Stevens and another nurse stitched Sam's slit throat. Dr. Stevens agreed to not remark about the 'so-called' protective wards, and so he remained quiet. He glanced up, startled, when the uncle dropped the main bag of salt by the door.

"Sorry," Bobby shrugged.

Dr. Stevens gave a weak smirk and went back to Sam, applying some dressing over the area and wrapping the neck in heavy bandages.

Caylee turned back to Dean, after being distracted from the loud noise, and that was when she noticed something different about his eyes: they were focused. Then he blinked.

She gasped. "Dr. Stevens, he's back."

"What? Are you sure?" The doctor asked excitably.

Dean groaned loudly, placing a hand over his eyes.

"Yep, I'd say he's back," Caylee responded with a twinkle in her eye.

"Alright, hang on. Can you finish this up please?" he asked the nurse beside him who nodded and continued to wrap Sam's neck. "I'll be right back with the sedative," he said removing his gloves and leaving out the door.

Bobby came over and knelt down beside the bed. He shook Dean on his arm happily. "Hey Dean, welcome back. But don't look too happy," he remarked after Dean lifted his hand off his face, revealing a grimace, "The doc will be back and then it's nighty-night."

Dean groaned again rolling over onto his back. "S'my," Bobby heard him whisper painfully.

"He's fine Dean, or he will be. Nothing is going to happen to him. You just get some rest," Bobby reassured him, not quite sure if Dean had registered the message, not sure if he believed it himself.

Just then Dr. Stevens burst through the door with another syringe in hand. He slouched down and took out his penlight, shining it into Dean's eyes. Dean cringed, turning away, muttering something inaudible.

"Just checking Dean. One more time," said the doctor before latching onto the man's face firmly and scanning the light past his eyes a final time. He concluded that Dean's pupils dilated at the appropriate pace now, and was now able for the sedative. "Okay, this is just gonna make you sleep. It's okay." Dr. Stevens encouraged pressing the needle into the man's elbow.

Soon Dean was in a deep slumber. Caylee attached two extra IV's into his hand, one for replenishing the deficient nutrients, and the other for stabilizing his fluids. Bobby came over and pulled a blanket over him, patting his head. "Yeah you better sleep, you idgit." He stood back and took in Dean's sleeping form, his leg bent upwards on the bed, and his left arm draped over his head. He looked too cute, too innocent, something he never thought Dean was capable of. He felt the heaviness behind his eyes. He quickly willed the tears away and sauntered over to his chair beside Sam, so that he could keep an eye on both of them, his surrogate sons. Again, Bobby Singer was in for a long haul.


	15. Chapter 15

_Three days later:_

Bobby completed his, maybe, thirtieth cup of coffee. He scanned around the room searching for something interesting, as nothing else seemed to satisfy his troublesome thoughts. The TV offered nothing special to watch and the magazines the hospital provided were about to have him make a prenuptial agreement with senescence. Dean, his main source of entertainment, still hadn't woken up and the staff were less than eventful, seemingly avoiding the room at all costs. Maybe it was his powering attitude or dangerous scowl? He didn't care; it wasn't like he could help it!

Sam's heart monitor gave off a loud bleep.

Every time the machine gave off a noise, Bobby looked at it curiously. He wasn't sure what the beeps or the numbers meant, only that they meant Sam's livelihood. When the nurse Caylee had tried to explain the machines and what the numbers meant for Sam, it went in through one ear and out the other. He probably looked like a complete imbecile learning Latin for the first time judging from the look she gave him. Eventually, she gave up and left him alone, back with the occasional beep.

That was yesterday. Bobby let out a long yawn; any longer and he would've gone into respiratory arrest. He wanted to sleep, but the plastic chair made that decision for him. His body ached and the floor look incredibly enticing as he just wanted to lie down. Deciding against the awkward image of his old ass shacking up on the floor, he sat back instead twiddling his thumbs again. Maybe if he read a book, possibly one of the books from the car's trunk, he wouldn't be so bored. But then again, the books probably came from him and he had already read them several times. Anyway, even if he wanted to go obtain some form of decent literature, that meant leaving the boys for a few minutes. _Nope, couldn't do that. Dean'll have my balls in a sling if I did that!_

The machine let off another beep. Bobby looked at it again and noticed this time the big flashy number on the screen was now lower than it was a minute ago. Ignorant of its meaning, he decided to ignore it and looked around. His eyes traveled all around the quiet room until they rested on Sam's still figure, thankful that his pallor was back to its original golden appearance. Despite the boy's typical character being jovial and constantly in a wiry state, he was unusually still. His eyes remained shut and the tube plantation covered half his face. The kid's hand was still cool and flaccid when he picked it up again. _Guess that's the case with coma patients. _He wondered if Sam was ever going to wake up. And if he had, will he ever be the same again? The trauma this boy has been through was enough to put any regular person into a padded room, but Sam was different. He took it differently. Bobby prayed that he wouldn't change, especially with the way the boys left each other. _Dean better do some serious damage control if…or when Sam wakes up, or we're gonna lose him forever._

Bobby slumped further in his seat about ready to take another unneeded nap, when the beeps on the machine began to ring out in an accelerated tempo. Unnerved, Bobby leapt from his chair and slammed his fist against the emergency call button.

Within seconds, Caylee arrived along with Dr. Stevens and a few other nurses.

"What's happened?" Dr. Stevens asked racing up to the bed.

"I don't know, the machine's going haywire." Bobby spouted, uncertain of what to do.

Dr. Stevens read the machine and swore. "Caylee, increase his oxygen to eighty-five percent," he ordered. He turned to the blonde haired nurse behind him. "Barbara, get me some more atropine. His heart is starting to give out again." The nurse took off at a sprint while the doctor began giving compressions.

"What's going on?" Bobby questioned terrified, backing away to stand beside Dean's cot.

"His heart is giving out again."

"Is it the bacteria?"

"I don't know. Hurry Barbara!" Soon the nurse came stumbling in carrying a syringe and a vile. Dr. Stevens took it and immediately plunged the long needle into Sam's heart.

The monitor silenced.

Dr. Stevens breathed easy sliding the needle out. As if his long breath had jinxed the current situation, the monitor began to wail again. Dr. Stevens and the nurses went into overdrive trying to sustain Sam's vitals.

"Doc, tell me what's happening!" Bobby cried.

"We don't know. It's like the kid is starting to give up. Keep the oxygen running," he told Caylee. "Go get the crash carts, just in case," he ordered to the nurse Barbara.

Bobby looked down at Dean. _If anything happens, Dean needs to be awake._ "Dean," he prodded the sleeping man's shoulder. "Dean."

Still Dean slept on.

"Dean, dammit. We need you awake. Come on, something's wrong with Sam. Please wake up," he struck him harder, but Dean still continued to snore softly.

Caylee watched the two out of the corner of her eye. Worry filled the deep gulley within her heart. She was at a loss of what she should do. Then an idea formed in her head: a brilliant idea that could solve everything for this family, but deep down she knew it was incredibly risky.

Momentarily she glanced away from the heartbroken family and looked down at Sam. Though he was comatose and hooked up to every machine imaginable, she could see the quality of his soul. For whatever reason, she could not find any impurity, absolutely nothing that should declare this boy's untimely demise. She gathered from the brother's behavior that Sam was special, and that he was worth saving for Dean. How else would Dean practically fall into near insanity at the thought of nearly losing his beloved sibling? He must be one of a kind. With that in mind, she made a decision.

Defiant in that her choice could cost her a lot, she punched in a few buttons on the machine and ran from the room.

* * *

Dean didn't know where he was. At first he thought he was sleeping on a cot at the hospital, but now he appeared to be in a blinding white room. Confusion hit him like a train wreck as he called out "Hello". All he was met with was the echo of his voice. Where the hell was he? He called out again becoming slightly paranoid when nothing answered back this time and no one else seemed to occupy the room. Then like magic, a pungent fragrance of leather and burning fuel wafted through his nostrils and next he found himself behind the wheel of his beloved Impala. _I must be dreaming!_

Totally perplexed at the sudden change in location, he gripped the steering wheel for confirmation. He turned on the stereo, which began to blast "Enter Sandman" by _Metallica._ Indeed, he was in his car! He looked straight ahead and noticed that he was parked outside Getterson's forest, the same forest he found Sam's near-lifeless body. It had the same creepy visage to it, producing severe goosebumps along his arms. The grand cedars, alone, stood tall and proud, sneering at him as if they were the Scylla monster from the Greek stories waiting to devour passersby.

Dean gulped. He wasn't easily intimidated, but this forest held too many dark memories. Then an awful thought struck him. What if he hasn't found Sam yet? What if all the horrible happenings were a premonition of some kind and he was here now to stop them from occurring? He played with that notion a little bit, believing that it might be true, praying it were true. But then if it all were a premonition then Bobby will still be beside them as before. He turned his head to the passenger side in hope of seeing his mentor idly playing with the maps, but was sadly disappointed when the passenger seat was passenger-less.

He grimaced. All of it was real. Sam nearly died and may be still dying. The cramped up space in his car suddenly seemed claustrophobic. He wanted out. But he didn't know where he was or how he got there. He tried opening his door, but the door remained shut and locked. The door lock seemed to be jammed, the stick refusing to give in to his demand. He slammed his fist against the windowsill out of spite, receiving a nasty sting along the side of his hand.

The seat jostled next to him. "Hello Dean," a dreaded familiar voice said to him.

His head whipped to the side so fast, it resulted in a nasty twinge of whiplash. There he came to face the angel Castiel, still the same in his _holy tax accountant _attire. The angel stared at him with the same stoic non-readable expression he became annoyed with.

Dean gave a sigh of relief bowing his head down on the steering wheel. "Cas man, I can't tell ya how glad I am to see you"- he raised his head imploring into the angels' eyes beseechingly- "You gotta help me. I need you to help Sam. Make him better!"

"No," the angel responded quietly.

"What? What do you mean _no?"_

"We can't."

Dean threw back his head slightly panicked. "Then tell me what to do. How many Hail Mary's do I have to do to get Sammy back? Please, you have to help!"

"We can't do anything…"

"Why not?"

"It's against our orders."

"Then cram those order up thier corporate asses!"

"I cannot help your brother, even if I wanted to," replied the angel casually with not even a hint of sorrow or pity.

"Again, why not?" Dean nearly shrieked.

"It's out of the natural order of things."

"What order of things?"

"I'm here to talk to you about…"

"What is it with you and never answering a God damn question…" Dean cut him off, but then knelt down his head after the angel gave him a sour look, _"Sorry…damn_ question."

Castiel looked forward again. "You need to know what Lilith is up to. Lilith is nearing her goal. Already half of the seals needed are broken…"

Dean shook his head agitated. "And there you go again with the Lilith crap. Of course, you're here to tell me about Lilith. What she's been up to? And how I need to gank her," he seethed glowering at the vessel beside him.

"You must understand…"

"What's to understand? My brother is dying and you won't lift a finger to help. I'm sure you've got some healing mumbo jumbo under those wings there, but then again…it goes against orders." From the look on the angel's face, he knew he was playing with fire. But at that point he didn't care; he was too angry, too heartbroken, and too sullen to carry on. If the angel were to toss him back into the oven, then let it happen. He deserved it.

"Your brother is one of those that we cannot interfere with. He…"

"He's done nothing wrong. And yet you're just watching, waiting for him to just kick the bucket, or just waiting for him to do something bad so you can off him yourselves. Yeah so what, he used his powers, but all he's done is send a lot of demons back to Hell. The way I see it, he's been doing you a favor. Now tell me what's wrong with that?"

When the angel didn't answer, he continued. "What? Cat got your tongue? You know, I should have seen it too. I should've been there for him, but I was too gung ho about your friggin' threat that I left him alone and now look what happened. The time he needed me the most, I wasn't there for him. But guess what, I'm gonna be there for him now. I'm not gonna leave him, not while he still has a fighting chance. So you can take your orders and shove em' up your…"

"It is God's Will that…"

"I don't care… you know I just about had enough of you and your God. He wants my help, but he won't help me. How do you expect me to be your glorious hero, while my family's at stake?"

"It's not like that Dean," said Castiel in a dead calm.

"Then what's it like?"

"We need you. No question about it. As for Sam…everything is already in order."

"What's that mean?"

"For the time being, we cannot help your brother. Only you can. Consider this a gift." Castiel said placing two fingers on Dean's temple.

The next second Dean found himself planted in the middle of a heavily wooded area.

_How does he do that? _Dean asked himself searching all around taking into account of the silent, seemingly sinister surroundings. He only hoped it wasn't the forest he was dreading about a few minutes ago. But knowing his luck, it was. And of course, it was Castiel putting him into another awkward position without any clue of it's purpose.

Dean growled. "You know I'm getting tired of this smoke and mirrors B.S." He called out-loud. "You call this a gift! Get your good for nothing, halo-wearing, winged ass back here!"

When the angel didn't appear, he kicked the nearest tree stump several times, until the pain in his big toe reached astronomical proportions and he couldn't kick the poor tree anymore. As always, when he needed to obtain some vital information, the angel disappeared. He wondered if all angels were like that and if they were, he wanted to admit they were doing it on purpose, as if they were sitting on top of their clouds playing a game with _humans…must be Clue!_

Dean backed away from the tree panting heavily. He sucked in a large greedy breath and turned around. A long length of dimly lit wooded territory stretched before him. He huffed realizing what he had to do. _Well, if I'm going to find out why I'm here, I'd better get a move on it. _Grudgingly, he strode forward kicking at clumps of dirt and leaves, mumbling out curses under his breath. At this point, he was beyond frustrated. He was tired of the games, and the ever constant evasiveness for just a simple answer. How was it that either side was oh so helpful?

Completely unaware of where he was trudging, lost in his own thoughts, Dean accidentally stumbled into an enormous mud pit. His boots sunk within seconds, and the gruesome sludge filled their interior, wetting his toes. Now if it was a lovely summer day, he probably wouldn't have minded, but no, he was somewhere eerie and it was dreadfully cold. He tried walking out of the pit, but his feet sunk in deeper raising past his knees, further immobilizing him to the spot. His frustration surpassed _Hulk_ level and he let out an almighty war-like cry, scaring away many birds out of trees and slumbering critters out of their nests.

His scream died down, it's echo fading amidst the edges of the forest, only for it to be replied to by a frightening roar. Dean perked up, alarmed at the sudden noise. The only time he had ever heard a roar like that was when he watched _**Jurassic Park**_ as a child and the T-Rex was chasing its entree.

Immediately he looked around for an anchor to pull him out of the gunk. Protruding from the base of a tree was a curved root. He grabbed a hold of its rough surface and pulled with all his might until his feet came out with a _plop._ His body fell to the damp earth, when another loud roar occurred. He jumped to his feet hearing that it was much closer. Staying as still as a stone, listening intently for any indication of the roar's owner, his eyes focused on the clump of bushes ahead of him. Then the bush rustled.

Apparently the _fight_ in his _fight or flight _sympathetic nervous system lost, because fear activated his feet to flee and run as fast as his mud-filled boots could carry. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he sensed that whomever made the roar was close by. His eyes grew as large as saucer plates, and he ran like a wild man, swiping and pushing at branches or anything that obstructed his path.

Suddenly he felt a familiar force barrel into him causing him to have an unwanted date with the ground. Blood pooled in his mouth after biting off the tip of his tongue. He spat the crimson fluid out and looked up, hardly daring to move, searching for an enemy that was nowhere in sight. Whatever it was that knocked into him was heavy and was obviously not friendly.

Slowly pulling himself to his feet, he held his breath, taking a step forward. In a blur, the monster that had knocked him over whizzed past him clipping him in his shoulder, forcibly causing him to spin once again into the hard dirt. The fiend, Dean saw only as a shadow, disappeared into the dense forestry.

Dean swore. "Okay, now I'm pissed." He wanted to blast the thing into a billion pieces, but he had no gun. No weapon of any kind! Once again, he pulled himself to his feet and waited a few minutes, as if daring for the thing to come back. He watched the direction it took off in. The darkened area grew increasingly quiet. Nothing stirred. Why does this always have to happen to him? His side ached and a headache sprouted. However, he decided to ignore them and stay still as long as he could.

At first he thought it was just the wind that had picked up, but then as if he were in a cheesy horror movie, the whole scenery of trees, leaves, and ground cover began to move, bouncing up and down, rummaging loosely around him. The wind howled. The trees whistled. It was almost like the forest was speaking amongst themselves and the rambunctious critters were laughing at him. Forget the eerie part, now it was just downright creepy! Now Dean certainly wasn't the namby pamby type, but here in the midst of Hell's woods, a badass creature on the loose, talking trees, and no weapons, he began to feel like a female transvestite lurking in a frat house.

The panic button switched back on and he took off at a sprint not willing to slow down. The forest continued to rant and rave around him, causing him to run faster. The synaptic firings in his brain went into overdrive and he thought he was about to faint. He didn't know how long he was running, nor did he know where he was running to- just from…well, basically everything.

A different sound he caught on his flight stopped him in his tracks. Doubled over, trying desperately to listen past his air-starved pants, he focused on the noise. Then he heard it: a child's cry.

"Daddy!" It screamed. It sounded terrified.

Dean took off without a moment's hesitation. With the child calling, the thing or whatever it is that knocked into him and was roaming about could easily have found it's lunch. As if his suspicion was confirmed, the creature's howl reverberated somewhere to the right of him.

"Daddy!" the voice called again.

Dean ran faster running up a small hill, nearing to the source of the voice.

"Dean!"

He stopped.

"Dean!" The child called in more distress.

Dean's eyes widened in consternation, not believing that it could be who he thought he was. He leapt up a few more feet coming over the edge of the hill and paused.

There he was at the base of the hill, the child, around the age of six, wearing an oversized blue shirt covered in mud stains with tattered jeans. The child continued to call his name searching all around, hugging himself, where Dean noticed he had several scrapes and scratches outlining his cheeks and arms. He had brown hair shaped in a bowl-cut and expressive green eyes, despite the tears flowing from them. Dean stood paralyzed, unable to comprehend what he was seeing: he was looking at a six year old Sam.

"Dean!" Little Sammy called again frantically.

The tiger-like wail resounded behind Dean, and he leapt off the hill, racing towards the child. He easily scooped up the tyke in his arms and continued to run. Little Sammy squirmed in his hold, but then let out a frightened yell pointing over his shoulder.

"There it is," he screamed.

Dean didn't need a child psychologist to tell him what that meant.

"Hang on," he told him. Dean bolted faster, refusing to look back, holding on to the child tighter. Little Sammy wrapped his arms around his neck and burrowed his head into his shoulder, whispering something Dean couldn't quite hear. The sound of the creature's snarls and wails behind him was the only thing ringing in his eardrums.

Desperately, Dean took an immediate left and suddenly his feet went out from under him. Their bodies were both launched downward, sliding along a wet and slick path. Sammy held on tight as they sped along the path dodging bushes and trees, twisting and turning, like on an uncontrollable roller-coaster ride.

Dean had a hunch on where the path ended. He wasn't disappointed when a bright light appeared and they both became airborne.

"Oh Shiiiitttt!" Dean hollered as they both flew off the edge of a small cliff and fell steadfast into the murky lake below. His feet hit the still water first, bringing about a nasty twinge of pain that escalated as soon as the rest of his body was submerged. The force of hitting the surface was well beyond rendering him unconscious especially with the brisk water filling his mouth and nose painfully. Both of them sank with incredibly velocity far below the surface. Ignoring his aches and pains and fearing for the child still held in his grasp, he began to kick out fiercely, refusing to let up until their heads bobbed out of the nasty lake water.

Little Sammy spat out some of the water and began to cough incessantly.

"There you go," Dean encouraged, coughing out some of the water he choked on as well. The child coughed one last time and then began to whimper.

"It's okay. I got ya. I got ya. Just hang on," he told the little boy quietly, stroking his legs to keep afloat.

* * *

Back in the hospital room, Dr. Stevens was exhausted. Despite all the compressions he performed in the last fifteen minutes, Sam's vitals continued to decrease. He couldn't explain it and time was running out. Caylee had not returned and he was a little irritated by it. The uncle had tried numerous times to awaken the brother, but to no avail, the brother continued to sleep. That, he couldn't explain either. He only applied the sedative once. What was going on?

"Okay, I can't do this anymore. Get the paddles," he ordered. Barbara hurriedly came over with the cart and held out the plastic paddles.

Dr. Stevens hastily grabbed them out of the nurses' hands and prepped them. "Ready. Charge to 250." The nurse turned the knob on the machine. The doctor lowered the paddles onto Sam's bare chest.

Suddenly, before Dr. Stevens had pressed the buttons, both boys' bodies simultaneously jumped a little off the bed and shuddered. A second later, their bodies stilled.

The monitor silenced and the numbers began to increase exponentially.

"Doctor, he's stabilizing!" Barbara announced reading off the machine. Dr. Stevens looked on amazed that she was correct and that the kid's heart was coming back to it's normal pace. He gave the paddles back to the nurse and began to assess the rest of Sam's body.

Bobby looked on apprehensively, also wondering what had just happened.

The doctor peered into Bobby's soft blue eyes and shrugged. "He's back. I can't explain what just happened. We'll keep an extra careful eye on him from now on."

Bobby nodded in understanding, peering down at Dean once again. Somehow he knew whatever just happened, Dean had something to do with it.

* * *

"Come on," Dean urged, gently lowering Sammy on the muddy embankment. Without warning, the kid turned around and kicked him in the shin, backing away with a childish sneer. Dean bent over rubbing the sore area. "Yeah, you were always like that, even at that age."

"You're…you're in big trouble when my brother Dean comes back," the child squeaked pointing a finger at him.

Dean couldn't help but laugh.

Sammy's eyebrows scrunched further together. "I wouldn't be laughing if I were you. Dean beat up two eighth graders. And he did it with one hand!"

"Oh yeah, I remember that," Dean nodded his head, sitting down on a mossy log not too far from the water's edge, grimacing at his aches and pains. "Two beefy kids"-he curved his arms out- "braces, cried like hyenas."

"How…how'd you know?" Sammy asked surprised.

"Had a hunch," Dean retorted. "Hey Sammy…"

The child gasped, his eyes widening in shock. "How…how'd you know my name?"

"Cuz I know everything."

"No," Sammy screeched backing away looking fearful. "My daddy says don't ever talk to strangers, and I've never seen you before, so how do you know me?"

Dean shook his head. "Still the same. That was always you- gotta know now- no ifs, ands, or buts about it." Little Sammy bit his lip and tears started to form again. He could clearly see Sammy was starting to become frustrated. "Chill out little dude, I'm not gonna hurt you."

"Who are you?" Sammy peered up at him with his bright green eyes, using the wounded puppy dog look that could allow him to get away with murder.

"I should probably…maybe…possibly tell you, but you're just going to have temper tamptrum anyway."

Sammy crossed his arms defiantly with a _try me _expression, egging him on.

"Okay Sammy," Dean surrendered tossing his arms up and down.

"Only Dean gets to call me that," Sammy interrupted angrily.

"Well, that's the thing. It's me Sammy. It's me Dean."

Sammy stared at him. Then an awkward silence ensued.

Dean looked up at the sky positively annoyed. "If your gonna squeal, now's the time. My eardrums are ready."

Then just like he predicted, Sammy went into a conniption fit, stomping his feet, screaming out threats about his Dad coming to kick his ass, and how he couldn't be his brother. Dean was even taken aback by the child's verbose, literally putting a hand to his chest in alarm.

Dean felt like he had no choice but to sit there and allow the child to complete his tantrum. As he sat there rolling his eyes, he couldn't help but wonder where on God's Earth he was and why he was talking to his six year old brother. This was getting ridiculous. Did Castiel do an Emmett Brown thing and sent him back in time again? Or was this something different? Because he didn't remember anything pertaining to shadowy creatures in the woods.

Decrepit and discombobulated at the situation and, of course, frustrated at the erratic child, he began cluck the inside of his mouth with his tongue rhythmically, in an attempt to calm himself down.

Sammy stopped suddenly when Dean started the clucking. He cocked his head to one side confused, staring interested.

Dean stopped when he noticed the area had gone quiet. He looked back at Sammy, who was looking at him as if he was a three-headed turtle.

"Do that again," Sammy ordered softly.

"Do what?"

"The tongue thing."

"What? This?" he clicked his tongue again.

Sammy's eyes brightened. "Hey, Dean does that."

"Surprise. Surprise." Dean retorted sarcastically. Realizing he had no time to waist, he blurted out. "Come on little dude, you're smart enough to pull this together. Even at that age, you were beating me at every crossword puzzle known to man."

"That's because Dean sucks at words," the child replied automatically.

"But I always got you at Trouble."

Sammy gasped, his eyes brightening once again. He strode forward cautiously and looked into Dean's eyes carefully, inspecting him as someone would an insect under a microscope. Then the recognition flourished throughout the little boy's features. "Dean?"

"In the flesh…well, something like that."

"Dean!" Sammy barreled into his chest, knocking the breath of his lungs, wrapping his frail little arms around his torso. Dean wrapped his arms around him, relishing in that he finally got to be with his brother again, albeit in a weird way.

"Yep, it's me," Dean replied softly.

Sammy looked up and said. "But how're you Dean? You can't be."

"Why not?"

"Well Dean's a lot shorter, and is not fat."

"What? I'm not fat!"

"You look like a grown up. All grown ups are fat," Sammy reasoned.

Dean looked at him annoyed. "Thanks," he responded grudgingly. "You and your logic, Sammy. I'll never understand it."

"It's Sam," Sammy muffled in his soaked shirt.

"And still the same attitude."

"But how…" Sammy piped, scanning his body.

"Spare yourself the drama dude, and don't ask. Considering how I don't know where I am or how I'm talking to your six-year old self…no thanks to a feathery friend of mine," he rolled his eyes at the thought of the angel, holding the child closer to him.

"Dean?" Sammy asked after a little while.

"Yeah?"

"Are you mad at me?"

"No. I'm not mad at you."

"Then why'd you leave me?" Sammy asked downtrodden.

"Huh?"

"You were always there with me, then _poof"-he_ mimicked a small explosion with his small hands- "you were gone. I couldn't find you anywhere."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Dean answered, becoming more confused by the minute. Even if this was a memory or back in time, he knew he never left Sammy alone. So what was Sammy saying?

Then an awful thought struck him. Something that he would never forgive Castiel for doing. He looked down and saw that Sammy was listening intently. He continued. "I don't know what to tell you, only that I'm thinking that either this is a memory that Cass wanted me to see or I'm somewhere else entirely."

"Where else would you be?"

"Somewhere you wouldn't appreciate me being," he said out loud, realizing that there was no other logical explanation other than him being in Sam's head. He only recognized a few things out of their location like the lake, which was much bigger here than he had remembered it. Sam and him, whilst playing in the woods when they were younger got all muddy, just like Sam was now, only they never got hurt. And the woods reminded him more of the Getterson's woods, where the infamous creature roamed. Castiel said that only he could help his brother. What if that meant talk to him consciously. What if right now he was talking to Sam's conscience and the questions Sam was asking was what the adult Sam was feeling? _Thanks Cass, always so awkward! _

Sammy remained silent still holding onto him.

Dean took a deep breath, believing that was the case, that he was inside Sam's head. "I don't know. I guess the reason why I left…was," it was hard to find the words. He licked his lips and cleared his throat. "I guess I felt that you didn't need me anymore. I guess I thought you were strong on your own and I was just a fifth wheel, especially after I found out what you were doing. So I got mad."

"I didn't mean to make you mad," Sammy pleaded. "I didn't know what else to do."

"I know. But to be honest Sam, I felt betrayed. I've been so scared of this destiny thing you've got going on, that I guess I just sort of took it the wrong way when I found out. I was supposed to be the big brother looking out for you, making sure it wouldn't happen to you. And I know you told me you wouldn't use them again, and it's all my fault. I should have believed in you and I didn't. That's why I left."

"Are you coming back?"

Dean took another long breath and pondered about it for a minute. "Yeah…yeah, I think I am," he concluded, feeling the guilty burden lifting off his shoulders.

Sam continued to stare at him with his puppy-dog eyes, as if he was skeptical of Dean's answer.

So Dean decided to try another approach in convincing his brother. "Remember the time when you were too scared to walk home by yourself?"

Sammy shook his head. "No."

"Oh that's right, you were older then. Okay, you remember the time when… let's see…uh…oh dad went off on one of his business trips and I was left with you for the weekend at the scuzzy motel across the street from the school."

"You mean the time when we had nothing but spatghetos for a trillion days?"

"Yeah okay, that's a bit exaggerated…and it's spaghettios, but, yeah that one. Remember when I went out for the night and you thought I was kidnapped."

Sammy gasped. "A robber took you?"

Dean laughed. "No, a robber didn't take me. I went out to get food, remember, because we were out and I kinda got a little sidetracked."

"You went to the arcade," Sammy admonished.

"Okay. Okay. I did. I'm sorry," he defended. "But yes, I was gone for a little while longer and you woke up from your nap a little earlier than you were supposed toooo," Dean tickled him.

Sammy squirmed giggling. "Okay?"

"Well, you were scared out of your mind, and you had no clue what to do. And if I hadn't come in the time that I did, you probably would've had every FBI, CIA agent and every authority figure you could think of at our dinky motel. Luckily, the operator understood that I was safe and sound and dropped the call. But anyways, I still came back. Even though I was gone and you thought I was never going to come back, I did."

Sammy looked perplexed, as if trying to understand what he was saying. "Dean, you shouldn't tell stories, you're bad at it."

Dean tickled him again, bringing out a loud laugh/cry from the child. "The point is, I understand now what you're going through. It took me awhile, but I got it. Though you can be alone, you would prefer us to work together. And I feel the same way. We're better together. But that can only happen as long as we trust one another and believe in one another, even it sounds so far beyond crazy," he said. Sammy smiled and hugged him tighter. Dean's expression saddened. "I didn't do that Sammy, and I'm sorry. I guess that's what I'm really trying to say."

"I don't blame you," Sammy replied, as if he knew all along what Dean was talking about.

"You should. I'm your brother, and if there's anybody out there that you can count on for support, it's me. I was stupid. And you're right, I left you alone, but I'm here now. Dean's no longer going to act like a dumbass."

"Awww…you said a bad word," Sam chastised childishly.

"Shuddup, you little twerp."

"But you did!"

"Yeah, okay, you smart butt." He hugged him tighter.

"Thank you Dean. Love you big brother."

That comment made Dean smile. "I love you too, Sammy." He said patting his arm.

Suddenly, another cowering roar echoed throughout the scene disrupting their little cuddle session. Sam jumped out of Dean's embrace, horrified, facing the woods. They heard the monster's wail again. "It's coming." Sammy nearly shrieked. He spun around and grabbed Dean's arm, pulling him off the log. "You've got to go!"

Confused, Dean exclaimed. "What? No!"

"You have to Dean," Sammy cried desperately, pulling him away. "It's coming back."

"What is it?"

"It's bad!"

"No duh!"

"No Dean, it's the badness that lives here," Sammy got behind him and starting pushing against his rear towards the lake.

Dean stopped in his tracks impeding the child from going any further. "Sam no, I'm not letting you face that thing by yourself. I can fight it off."

"No you can't. It'll kill you." Sammy wailed stepping back from Dean.

Dean faced the lake and saw that the area was now becoming darker and ripples began to disturb the lake's surface. "No," Dean refused, fearing for his brother's safety. "Sam, I'm not…" he turned around, freezing in his tracks at the sight of the person in front of him. It wasn't the six-year old he was conversing with, but an older Sam, the one he last saw in the hotel.

Sam smiled at his vexed expression. "Hey Dean."

Hearing splashes coming from the water, he turned to see a gigantic paw peeking out from a large bush. Fearful, he turned back to Sam. "Sam. No. I can't. I'm not leaving you."

"And you won't," Sam replied calmly, completely at ease. "I know that now. But you have to go. Only I can fight this."

"Sam," Dean protested.

"Time to wake up now big brother," Sam snapped his fingers.

* * *

"No Sam," Dean yelled out as he woke up to a bright light. The brightness stung his eyes and he clamped his hand over, escaping the pain.

A sniffle worked past his emotionless demeanor. He continued to keep his hand over his eyes, fearing that Bobby or whoever was in the room might see him break. Never in his life had he felt this sorry for his brother. He wanted to be fighting alongside him, protecting him from the beast. But now he realized that this evil was something Sam had to take on alone. The beast his brother has been fighting his entire life: Azazel's curse.


	16. Chapter 16

_Sleep..._

Such an enjoyable component to the puzzle of life. It is the envious state of a person's well-being to rest and dissolve their problems away (or risk it and become the world's number one bitch). It is a state where dreams emerge and imaginations thrive. Where someone can visualize themselves as someone else like a top-dog millionaire and never have to work another day in their lives; or a boy can visualize themselves as a gladiator in ancient times overcoming an enemy just to appease a crowd of ruthless spectators; or even as a god ruling over an universe.

Yes, dreaming is wonderful. Well…it _can_ be when there is peace and quiet-and not with a couple of jackasses nearby arguing at the top of their lungs.

For Dean, his dreams of burning tires and M&M's were quickly dismantled when the argument turned up a notch. He rolled over on his cot stiffly. Though he had been sleeping for little more than three days, the way his body ached, it didn't feel that way. His head pounded in waves, his limbs were cumbersome and lethargic, and he felt completely nauseated. Just when he thought he was able to get a few more _Z's_ in, that's when someone decided to voice their opinion.

"Out of the question," someone spoke opposingly.

"We can't just sit around and do nothing," the other answered anxiously.

Dean groaned pulling his pillow over his head.

"You know we don't the authority of doing that."

"I don't care."

Dean squeezed the sides of his pillow inward. "Shut up," he groused.

The argument continued to roll, becoming more heated by the minute.

Dean pulled the pillow off his head after a few minutes, fuming by the lack of courtesy. _How do insomniacs do it? _He thought disdainfully slouching over with a grumpy frown chucking the pillow off the bed. Looking around, he noticed the room to be empty, except, of course, Sam and Bobby, who was fast asleep in his little chair and looked as though a bomb couldn't wake him from his slumber. He eyed the door and figured whoever it was stirring him from his good ol' place of happiness must've been directly outside their room.

"Alright, whoever's making that damn racket is about to have a one on one match with a sledgehammer." Dean exclaimed through clenched teeth, unfurling the blankets off himself irritated. Sluggishly, he pulled himself off the cot, only making it a few inches when his hand was jerked back, sending a surge of pain up through his arm. Flinching, he peered down at his hand and noticed the IV wires were still needled into his flesh. He immediately ripped them out, ignoring the trickle of blood through his fingers, and continued to make his way to the door, intent on opening a can of whoopass on the two debaters.

"His heart gave out again when it wasn't supposed to. We need to do something now. Who's to say it won't happen again," one of the arguers pronounced, causing Dean to freeze in his tracks at the door. He leaned, turning his ear so he could hear the conversation clearer.

"Yes I understand that, but what else do you want me to do?"

"Get a hold of the National Blood Bank. We need to do an emergency transfer. The shipment is taking too long and this patient needs it now."

Dean's eyes widen at recognizing the man's voice who just spoke. It was Dr. Stevens. He didn't know who the other man was.

"You know I can't do that. There are mounds of paperwork involved for scheduling an emergency shipment. Not to mention it takes at least a couple days for the Board of Executive's approval. And you know exactly what they're going to say: it's way out of our budget calling for this."

Dr. Stevens huffed. "You're gonna let a few financial debates dictate what happens for this patient?"

"I'm sorry Mike, but you know the consequences if we were to call without permission. Not only will you lose your license, but I can as well, and the staff will be subject to probation. Do you want to do that to your co-workers?" the other man stammered.

"Gary, I won't let this patient die because of a few mailing errors. I won't. That's why I need you. You're the only one who has access to the Board and the Blood Bank."

"Mike, you're making this out to be personal. As a doctor, you know you can't do that."

Dean had heard enough. Obviously whatever they were arguing about, it was about his brother, and hell if he wasn't going to be apart of it. He opened the door and stepped out to find Dr. Steven's back turned to him speaking with another doctor taller than him, with a full cap of gray, withholding a stingy posture.

"We have to do something," Dr. Stevens protested.

"Excuse me, but what's going on?" Dean interrupted fiercely.

Dr. Stevens spun around like a cyclone, with the look of utter surprise plastered over his face. "Mr. Carriden! You're awake! That's…"

"Forget the whole 'Frankenstein Alive' bit doc and answer the question," Dean interjected, staring the doctor down, "What is this all about?"

Dr. Stevens released a heavy sigh. "Your brother is in dire need of a blood transfusion. And the shipment with your brothers specific blood type has been delayed…actually it seems to have fallen off the map, and there is no trace of it."

"Okay, so what's an alternative?" Dean inquired.

"There really is none," the other doctor decided to speak. "The way transfusions works is that compatible blood really has to be identical with the antibodies, Rh factors…"

"Was I talking to you?" Dean asked him venomously.

"Your brother has a unique O negative blood type. If he doesn't get it soon, there is a possibility that he may have a relapse like earlier," Dr. Stevens cut in sensing the tension.

"What are you talking about?"

"While you were asleep, Sam's heart seemed to have given out again. His vitals decreased dramatically. However, we were fortunate to get it back, but I stress that it could very well happen again."

"So you're saying my brother's not getting better?"

"I'm sorry to say that he won't get any better in his current state. His vitals are slowly depleting, unless he gets that transfusion." Dr. Stevens answered fretfully.

Dean eyed the doctor incredulously. "If he needs blood, then give him a pint of mine. Hell, give him a gallon. We're brothers, it should be the same!"

The doctor paused, switching his gaze to the floor pondering the suggestion. After a brief second, he shook his head. "No. You're still a patient of mine, and not liable to make decisions, unless by…"

"Then give me the damn forms and I'll sign myself out," Dean demanded angrily.

The kind doctor felt like he was in between a rock and a hard place. The suggestion was certainly plausible and they were probably much better off going through with it, but the fact remained that Dean was considered _under care_ and legally unable to make decisions regarding himself, thus breaking protocol. "I-I'm sorry. I can't agree to this as it may lead to complications…"

"Doc," Dean interrupted staring the doctor down with his father's Marine glare and stance, "I won't say it again. Do it now."

Dr. Stevens stepped back alarmed at the man's powering aura. Sensing there was no alternative, he bowed his head in defeat, also somewhat relieved. "Yes sir. The phlebotomist will be up in a few minutes, and I'll call Caylee in to take a look at that hand."

"Thank you," Dean responded in a stern voice retreating back into his room.

Dr. Stevens and the other doctor both let out a sigh of relief carrying on down the hallway. "Well that settles that."

"Unless it doesn't work. Then we're right back to where we started," Gary replied.

"Think positively Gary. But we still need to find out what happened to that shipment. There are other patients I'm sure who need it."

"Of course."

And with that, both doctors went their separate ways.

Dean only had to wait a few minutes before a nerdy guy with curly dark hair, a wiry build, and green scrubs stumbled into the room with the necessary equipment. Dean had to fight back a mischievous grin as the guy appeared somewhat nervous by his presence. The poor guy fumbled with the tray of tubular vials and needles, inching cautiously towards him on his cot.

When the phlebotomist accidentally dropped the vile in his hand, the glass breaking on contact, scattering in all directions, Dean let out a snort.

"I'm s-sorry," the guy stuttered.

"You alright?" Dean asked casually.

The frightened man nodded nervously, "Yea, yea, yea."

Dean, feeling a bit of pity for the kid, looked at him softly and raised his hand. "Calm down. It's alright. I only bite when the bar's closed."

The guy's eyes widened, realizing the time was before any bar was open.

Dean couldn't help but laugh. "Just chill dude. I'm only kidding. What's your name?"

"D-David," the kid answered.

"Okay, David. I'm Dean. Do you do this often?"

"Yes s-sir. At least three times a day for five years now," he answered a little less agitated.

"Really? Alright. Cool," Dean acknowledged. Confused about the kid's age, he asked, "How old are you?"

"I'm twenty-eight years old, sir."

"Twenty-eight, wow! I thought this might have been your first day. You look eighteen!"

"I'm sorry about that sir, I'll try to do better."

"Do better? Dude! Relax! I'm just glad I'm working with a pro. So let's do this." Dean encouraged raising the rest of his short sleeve up past his shoulder.

David nodded, easing some when he realized that Dean was not the badass he heard about harassing the doctors up on the fourth floor, but was just a regular man attending to the needs of his family. Upon settling down, David wrapped a rubber tube around Dean's arm, allowing the veins to bulge out of place. He then set up the needle into the rubber stopper on the small vile and pressed it into the crook of Dean's elbow.

Dean gulped at seeing the red liquid quickly filling the vial. After it filled approximately three-quarters full, David took it out, and began to set up another one.

"How much do you think it will take for Sam?"

David, now totally calm and professional, shrugged his shoulders. "Uh, I'm not sure how much to be totally honest. But I was told to come and collect a total of six vials, so that it won't send you into hypovolemic shock and that it will be enough to stabilize your brother further."

Totally taken aback by the kid's sudden change in attitude, Dean decided to learn more about what exactly will happen from that point forward. "Oh okay. Then how long til we know if our blood is a match?"

"At least a couple hours," David answered off-bat. "Usually I'd be running a tube and a bag, but the message was urgent. So it will be scanned right away. And usually it takes a while to scan for regular diseases and other nasty problems that could arise, like the HIV virus or West Nile."

Dean cringed, looking away, thinking about all the one-night stands he committed over his lifetime, praying nothing was swimming around. _Try explaining that one to Sam. _

"And then we screen it to see if it is compatible."

"What happens if it does?"

"Then it will be administered through an IV over a course of four hours, and more than likely he will be on anti-coagulants and immunosuppressants to keep the body from rejecting it." David explained filling his fifth vial and placing it in the tray beside them on the cot.

"Yikes!"

"Yeah. But lucky for him though, he's asleep through it. Most of the time, patients aren't and boy are they cranky," David assured, setting up the last vial.

Dean smiled warming up to the kid. And he was glad when the last needle was inserted. His arm was beginning to feel sore and he felt a little light-headed. After the last tube was filled and stashed away in the tray, David beamed, taking off the tube around Dean's arm, and applying a bandaid. "Alright, that oughta do it. Thank you, Mr. Carriden."

"No, thank you David. I feel better already," Dean remarked, his head swaying a bit to the side.

"Okay, I'll get this down to the lab and see what we can do. I believe Dr. Stevens will be in to talk to you shortly." David stood up taking the tray.

"Okay...Hey wait!"

David turned.

"I get the cookie too, right?" Dean asked with a childish expression.

Several hours later after the doctor came in exuberant that the results came back positive, Sam was set up to a new morass of wires and machines. Dean sat staring from across the room making a feast on his nails, revolting at the new apparatus. The queasiness he ascertained back when his brother was set up to the LVAD was beginning to sing it's grand solo again, and he felt chowing down on his fingers brought a sense of distraction. However, if Bobby were in the room, he would have had no need, but the old man seemed to have disappeared after stating he was going to discuss something with the doctor.

That must be a long discussion!

Dean finished with his fingers, after deciding the quicks were too raw to his liking and were bleeding a smidge. Lying on his back, he stared up at the ceiling dejectedly having absolutely nothing else to do.

It's a funny feeling when a person broadens their mind, either out of lack of focus or just plain lassitude and latency. New senses are awoken and a new awareness of a person's surroundings are taken into account. For Dean, he noticed the ceiling tiles each consisted of an odd assortment of off-white colors, and that an unnatural silence enveloped the room, except for the occasional beep from Sam's heart monitor. He rolled his eyes. His mind was reeling in the entertainment! After a while of counting down the minutes and waiting for Bobby's return, he came to an enlightening revelation: boredom is a killer.

In the event of that confession, his mind felt like he was out of options and must come to a terrible decision, or suffer a very miserable death by the stifling silence of the room. A decision he really didn't want to make…tongue clicking or counting ceiling tiles?

Not really content with either, he focused instead on the recollection of the doctor setting Sam's transfusion apparatus in place:

"So doc, what's happening here? Why are there two tubes set up?" Dean inquired curiously as

Dr. Stevens set up the blood bag on the IV stand.

The doctor hesitated before answering, obviously trying to come up with an explanation the young man will be able to understand. "Uh...one IV is for the blood being directed into Sam's main bloodstream. The other is set up for medications and drugs that are needed."

"For what?" Dean quirked an eyebrow, glancing at Bobby, who shrugged in return.

"Well, we would usually apply an antihistamine or an acetaminophen to prevent a typical reaction," the doctor began.

"Like what kind of reaction?"

"The most common adverse reaction we see are Febrile Non-Hemolytic Transfusion Reactions, but they're harmless. That'll just give him a fever that will resolve on it's own," he answered inserting the needle into Sam's main vein along his arm, while Caylee unwrapped the cord coiled in her hands. "Other types of things that are fairly common we might see are, uh, chills, headaches, uh, chest pain, dyspnea, cyanosis, tachycardia, and hypotension...what's the matter?" he paused in seeing Dean's and Bobby's dumbstruck expressions, "you look confused."

"Doc, you lost me on the F-word," Dean surrendered.

"Oh, uh...okay...uh, what don't you understand?" Dr. Stevens asked innocently, as a teacher would to his or her precarious students.

Dean could do nothing else but smile sheepishly, so Bobby decided to intervene. "Is there anything that we should be concerned about?"

"Well, for the time being I'm giving him a diuretic, because he's been known to have a vacillating heart condition. That way, ultimately, it won't give him a TACO."

Dean's jaw dropped, and his eyebrows rose so high they might have been able to hide in his hair. He scratched his head, looking utterly confounded. "Uh...Doc. Sammy was never much for Mexican food, but..."

"No, no, no," Dr. Stevens interrupted, "A TACO as in Transfusion Association Circulatory Overload. Basically it means fluid overflow in the heart. We're trying to prevent that, so you don't have to worry."

"Oh," Dean let out a nervous laugh, "What do you know? I really pictured a taco."

"It's alright, Mr. Carriden," Dr. Stevens also laughed, "Many family members envision the same thing, so don't feel bad."

"Trust me, I don't."

Bobby had left a few minutes after that, and Dean was left to his own accord. He kept on the time like _divine on dog dooky _realizing that the minutes were ticking by in a flash and were soon morphing into hours.

Bobby came strolling back in with a bag of food after Dean was on his fifth round of counting the tiles. "Aww, you made me lose count!" he grumbled.

Bobby stared at him.

Dean looked up noticing the old man's stance. "Oh, about time! Where were you and how long does it take to get food?" Dean spouted off, eying the bag with guilty pleasure.

"I was talking to the doctor about Sam first, and about the other victims," the old man shrugged chucking a burger over to him.

"What'd he say?"

"You better eat that, or else you're going to know the meaning of spoon-fed," Bobby demanded, knowing that the boy won't eat unless he heard the news about Sam first.

"Yes sir, boss," Dean replied sarcastically opening the wrapper and taking a big bite. "What the doc say?" he asked with his mouth full.

Bobby shook his head in annoyance about the boy's manners, settling in his seat. "Nothing we haven't heard about already. And I did ask him about the shipment truck, too."

"You heard about that?"

"Who didn't?" Bobby replied disgruntled.

"And?" he took another bite.

"And...they still haven't found it yet." Bobby sighed.

"You don't think it could be some of our fellow hell-buddies, do ya?" Dean asked inquisitively.

His mentor shook his head slowly tentatively. "I don't know. Could be. It seems that a lot of demon activity is going on around here, like they're preparing for something."

"Why do you say that? Besides the attack on Sam."

"It wasn't just Sam that was attacked. Barry's dead."

"What!" Dean nearly choked. Swallowing the vestiges of the half-masticated food particle rather grotesquely, he exclaimed, "Your friend Barry, as in the hunter you were supposed to meet to hunt down that monster, Barry!"

"Yep," Bobby said grievously.

Dean huffed disheartened shaking his head slightly. "Dammit. What da...what happened?"

"After I left, I got to the woods around three. I was supposed to meet up with Barry there, but he never showed. And I wasn't stupid enough to go take on that thing myself," he adjusted his cap, sitting back in his chair, " Anyways, he wasn't answering his phone. So I waited over two hours and by then I decided to go check on him. He's got a house about half an hour from here, so it wasn't too far. So when I got there, I don't think there wasn't an inch of his living room that wasn't covered in red. He was torn apart."

Dean grimaced. "Jeez, could it have been the thing?"

"No, I don't think so. I found some sulfur left behind, definitely a demon's doing."

"You don't think the phone call might have been a trick to lure you away from the hospital?" Dean asked seriously.

Bobby shrugged. "Could've been. At that point, I couldn't tell. Anyway after I found Barry, I knew then that something was going on and I had to get back. So I called a couple friends to come clean it up and be on the lookout, and that's when I hauled ass back to the hospital. Good thing, too!"

"Yeah, you're telling me. Man, if you hadn't come when you did..." he paused, a lump forming in his throat, remembering the blood and the heartless laughter.

"I hear ya kid."

Dean cleared his throat. "Anyways, I was meaning to ask you about that. But I guess now I know," then he began to chuckle, "Still, the way you just swooped in though, that was awesome!"

Bobby smiled victoriously. "Yeah, but hey"- he shook a finger at him-"you're lucky. That's the only time you'll get to see my ass do a stunt like that. I thought I about gave birth to a rocket. Thought that friggen curtain was going to break."

"Betcha the old lady in the room above thought differently," Dean joked, "Thought her superman came to her...ooh Bobby."

"Considering it was some young Asian girl after having a breast implant, no I don't think it phased her. I think she was too doped up to tell any difference," he laughed whole-heartedly at Dean's sudden miserable expression. "Cheer up boy, Christmas will be here soon enough."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, old man," Dean grouched under his breath.

An hour later, Dr. Stevens marched back into the room with his usual clipboard. Placing it aside on the bedside table, he checked the blood bag and nodded his head at seeing it was over three-quarters empty. Afterwards, he checked on the machine, writing the vitals down. He had just flipped the paper over when he looked up shocked.

Dean looked up and noticed the doctor's eyebrows furrowed. "Something wrong doc?"

Dr. Stevens shook his disbelievingly. "No, it's great. He has a fever."

Dean peered at him perplexed again. "Uh, aren't fevers supposed to be bad?"

"Well yes normally, but in this case it means that he's starting to accept the blood," the doctor piped up enthusiastically turning around, taking off his stethoscope. He pressed it down to Sam's chest and listened intently, moving the nodule around to different areas. "Oh my, that's incredible."

"What? What is it?" Dean asked anxiously, standing up.

"I do believe he is beginning to respond to treatment," he answered wrapping the stethoscope around his neck and taking out his penlight. After administering the light test across Sam's eyes and concluding they were constricting at a normal pace, Dr. Stevens began messaging Sam's arm. He huffed after the flaccid hand twitched, "Well, I be damned."

"Doc, what?"

Dr. Stevens straightened up facing the two hunters with a buoyant smile. "He's recovering. As you can see, he's starting to respond to stimuli. That's remarkable. And to be honest, I've never seen rapid results like this. I mean the transfusion isn't officially concluded yet and he seems to have improved tremendously. I mean look,"-he pointed to the heart monitor-"his heart rate is back up. His oxygen dependency has decreased. I do believe that he won't need this machine for too much longer. Here, I can go ahead and decrease his oxygen right now..."

"Stay right there doc," Dean interjected sternly walking forward with his domineering protective stance, watching the doctor suspiciously.

"Oh I see," the doctor back away, "Just by a few percent, here you can watch me," he offered.

Dean watched the man like a hawk, ready to take action if need be. Dr. Stevens inched his hand to the machine and turned the knob a few clicks; the machine's readings descending into the low seventies. Dean stepped away realizing he must have frightened the man just as the number stopped at seventy, as the doctor appeared to be shaking. Bobby tried hard to suppress a snicker in his chair.

As soon as Dean retreated, Dr. Stevens let out a long breath.

"Sorry doc," Dean apologized.

The doctor let out a nervous giggle. "No need. I understand completely. But I'll have you know you can trust me..."

"It's not you doc," Dean answered, "just...just forget about it."

"Certainly. Alright I think that is all for right now. I'm happy in that I believe he's beginning to enter the stages of consciousness. With that in mind, I can probably take him off the sedatives and hopefully he'll wake up soon."

Dean's face beamed, his face acquiring an all new glow at that statement. "He's going to wake up!"

"Yes, I do believe so."

"Oh man," Dean sighed relieved, "That's just...about time Sammy boy!"

"Okey dokey, I'll just get back to work, shall I?" Dr. Stevens said backing away.

"Hey doc?" Dean called.

"Yes?"

"I have a question. When Sammy does finally wake up," he said with a desperate breath, "uh...will he have, uh, you know, trouble with his," he grabbed his throat imploring into the man's grey eyes.

"You mean speak?"

Dean nodded.

Dr. Stevens sighed. "I don't know. It's too early to tell and we won't know until he does wake up. But da...judging from where the cut was made, he might have a little trouble. The cut missed the voicebox by an fragment of an millimeter, and it was deep enough to slice through the trachea. However, we did fix that and there should be minimum scarring. But to say if he will have major problems...I really cannot tell you at this point. I'm sorry."

"That's okay, I was just wondering," Dean replied feeling more worry creep up his throat. He turned away stomping sluggishly back towards his cot. After settling back down upon it, his hardened gaze lingered on his brother's still form again, his eyes resting on the bandages surrounding Sam's throat. What if Sam couldn't speak after this? Or what if he could never fully breath on his own again? What if his brother will never be physically the same again?

Only time will tell.

* * *

Two days later found Dean sleeping with his head resting next to Sam's limp hand, his hand planted firmly beneath the laxed fingers. The excitement of the doctor's prediction for Sam's expectant awakening gradually faded as Sam had shown no signs of consciousness, not even a twitch. And Dean soon found himself sitting by Sam's bedside each day anticipating...waiting...hoping...praying.

The scene in the tiny hospital room revealed to be extremely quiet as both hunters were on the brink of their REM cycles. Nothing stirred. Nothing vibed. Everything seemed to be unnaturally still...

Until the youngest Winchester's left pinky jumped.

Dean opened his eyes at the feel of the slight movement. He peered at the digit once before closing his eyes again, until he felt the finger twitch again. Glancing up, his eyes observed his brother's hand waiting to see if what he felt was true, and not part of his imagination. He studied it for a while as if daring for it to make a move again.

When the pinky remained still, he sighed in disappointment squeezing Sam's hand-only for the rest of Sam's digits to reactively curl around his hand.

Jumping out of his chair, he called out, "Bobby! Bobby!"

"Wha-" the old man slurred.

"I think he's waking up." Dean rushed excitably.

"What?" Bobby leapt up, his eyes as wide as a raccoon's. "How can you tell?"

"Look," Dean pointed down at Sam's hand, noticing the thumb swiveling lazily back and forth on Dean's leathery skin.

Bobby smirked. "Well, I'll be damned. What are you waiting for boy? Come on, open those eyes," he ordered softly approaching Sam on the other side of the bed, where he could see Sam's eyelids flutter a bit.

"Come on Sammy. You can do it. Wake up," Dean encouraged squeezing his hand tighter.

Apparently it was extremely difficult in Sam's case to reveal his beautiful mossy green eyes, because the fluttering increased, making it seem like he was being possessed or something.

"Come on Sammy," Dean whispered gazing eagarly at his sibling.

Then they slid open.

* * *

Pain. That was all Sam Winchester could feel at the moment. Pain in his stomach. Pain in his leg and shoulder. Pain emanating from the headache that sprouted. Pain in his throat. The pain was everywhere.

He tried to open his eyes, but it felt like a sumo wrestler were sitting on top of them. The strange dark bliss he had been swimming in for what seemed like a hundred years had faded rapidly, inserting him into a new state of his senses. A deep state of feeling that made him aware of all the pain and nausea. But something else was amiss. He felt something in his throat forcing a weird air-like rush. It was horrible. Suffocating.

His eyes shot open revealing a blurry atmosphere. He heard a voice, but they sounded so distanced and muddled, he couldn't make out who it belonged to. Allowing his eyes to focus, he looked all around frantically seeing two darken shapes. A flash shot through his mind remembering the two hillbillies and then it made sense. They were back. They were the reason why he couldn't breath. They came back to finish what they started.

* * *

Dean and Bobby didn't know what to do. At first Sam seemed at peace, his eyes glazed over, then next he was thrashing around, grabbing at his throat. Dean pressed down hard on his shoulders trying to stabilize him, only for his sibling to fight back harder.

"Sammy, Sammy. STOP. STOP. It's there to help you," he called out, but it was no use as Sam continued to duel. Bobby was already over by the emergency button, slamming his meaty fist into it several times.

Sam started to scream through the tube in his mouth, and it crushed Dean's heart. Sam was scared, but he was so disoriented he couldn't recognize his own brother. "Sam. It's okay!"

Finally the team of staff rushed in with Dr. Stevens bringing up the rear. "What's happening?"

"He's awake!"

Surprised, the doctor charged forward latching onto Dean's arm. "It's okay. We've got him." He peered down at his patient pressing down gently on his shoulder. "Sam. Sam. Can you understand me?"

The youngest Winchester answered that by grabbing onto his bicep and squeezing hard, still making choking sounds on the tube.

"Okay. Okay. Look at me Sam. Look at me," he replied in a furtive tone, tilting Sam's head towards him.

Sam gazed intently at the man before him, not exactly clear if he knew who he was looking at.

"Sam. You need to calm down. We can get the tube out, but we can't do it if you're all riled up like this, okay? Okay?" he asked him again.

For a second, it appeared like Sam was going to continue his struggle, but then miraculously he eased back staring more intently at the doctor now.

Dr. Stevens smiled. "Okay, now we're going to take it out. I'm going to count to three. On three, you cough, okay?"

Sam nodded as Caylee was unhooking the apparatus off his face.

"Alright," Dr. Stevens commenced grabbing onto the tube. "One...two...three..." On three, Sam let out an enormous cough and the doctor pulled the tube out. But Sam continued to cough harshly.

Dean looked up at the medical staff concerned when his brother's body bucked back and forth against the bedspread, trying to supply his lungs with a decent amount of air. The staff removed all the ventilator equipment from around the bed. Dr. Stevens still hovered over Sam helping him to calm down the coughing.

Finally after a few wild moments, Sam calmed down lying back against his pillow, panting heavily, his eyes still wide with worry. Dean came up beside him grasping his arm softly. "Hey Sammy, it's about time you put an end to your sleeping beauty routine," he quipped.

"Dean?" Sam wheezed, his voice hoarse and scratchy.

"Yeah, it's me kid," Dean answered warmly running a hand up and down his arm.

Sam suddenly recoiled from the contact, his face contorting into a grimace. "Dean?"

Dean's eyebrows furrowed. "What's wrong Sammy?"

Before anyone realized what was happening, Sam's whole body began to tremble. He could feel the putrid hot stickiness ascend up his throat and he turned over on his side, gasping at the awful twinges of pain jolting from his abdomen. The sudden acute sensitivity his body exhibited put his gag reflex into overdrive and he lurched forward unable to fight back the mess that was coming.

"Out of the way," Caylee ordered pushing past Dean with a bedpan sensing what was about to happen. She slid the pan under the man's chin just as the hot bile quickly made an exit.

Cringing in disgust, Dean backed away coming around to the other side of the bed. He softly patted his brother's back as he expelled contents three more times finishing it off with a bout of dry heaves. "There you go. Just get it all out," he encouraged.

Sam let out a gasp in between bouts, clasping onto the bedrail for support. He coughed again emitting out something inaudible.

Dean leaned forward. "What was that?"

"Go Dean," Sam whispered.

"Huh?"

"Go," he said again a little shaky.

Dean stood frozen to the spot confused. "I don't..."

Sam panted. "I...d-don't w-w-want you here."

Pain suddenly shot through Dean's heart and he felt it immediately deflate.

"D-d-don't w-want you...to see," Sam continued, fighting hard to say something.

Dean let out a sigh of relief. "Oh Sammy don't worry about that. It's okay. I won't think any less of ya..."

"No...no," Sam protested sounding as though he were about to cry, "Just go...please."

"Sam..." Dean objected.

"GO," Sam screeched, falling back on the bedspread, "GO AWAY...Just go...please just go away," he began to repeat over and over again.

Dean could feel his heart split in two. He bit the bottom of his lip, forcing the tears to stay at bay. Heartbroken and overwhelmed by his brother's wish for him to leave, he rushed from the room without looking back.


	17. Chapter 17

The intricate emerald thread-like artwork designed in the tile flooring became the object of Dean's attention for a good while. The granite gleamed in the artificial lighting, causing him to periodically close his eyes for long bits of time, to escape the pain. After Sam's outburst, he sprinted from the room towards the nearest exit, dodging any and everyone who blocked his way, until he reached the outside, slamming into a guardrail, and gulping in as much air as possible. After his brother continually screamed for him to go away, he felt constricted, like some giant rock-monster was sitting on top of him, smothering him, sucking the worthless life out of him and he needed to get out.

He stayed on the loading dock for a while, not really aware how much time had gone by, watching the few ambulances come and go and the few desperate family members drag their reluctant kids in through the visitor entrance. Soon darkness had descended, and a chill had finally worked its way through his solid stature, causing him to shiver, which made him realize he was outside in autumn weather without his jacket. Unable to handle the multiple chills wracking his frame, he went back inside.

And that was where he was now, sitting on a designated bench outside the room door with a full cup of smoldering coffee in his hands. Even though he was hurt, the guilt gnawing hungrily at his insides again, he couldn't find the courage to leave. Even though he was convinced his brother despised every bit of him, he wanted to remain close, keeping a close proximity, staring mindlessly at the floor, which offered no reprieve for his beleaguered thoughts.

He thought back to when he was in Sam's mind, or what he was sure of he was in. What was the apparition of little Sammy then? Was the conversation he had with the younger version of his brother a figment of his imagination telling him that he was needed? Was it his conscience playing cruel games to satisfy the need of Sam still loving him, still needing him?

The door opened and Bobby's haggard form came out. He took one look at the hollow frame that once was the all powerful Dean Winchester, the boy who always made his life interesting and worth fighting for since his wife passed away, and made a sigh of pity. Slumping on the green structure, he also stared out front. "How're ya doing?"

Dean shook his head stiffly.

Bobby caught the nod through his peripheral vision. "That bad, huh?"

Dean hesitated, licking his lips. "I…I feel sick."

"It's alright. It'll pass..."

"No, it won't." Dean interrupted, his voice breaking. "I deserve it, Bobby. I deserve it. I should've known it was going to be like this. He doesn't want me around. He hates me and it's more than I deserve. He's right. I should, uh...I should just go," he proclaimed irrationally rising from his seat.

Bobby grabbed a fistful of his shirt and dragged him back down roughly. "No, you sit your ass down. What you just said is guilt talking and I know both of you idgits have got plenty of it. I know you both didn't leave each other in the best of circumstances, but now's not the time to act like a horse's ass. You need to go talk to him."

"He doesn't want to talk to me."

"Yes, he does," Bobby corrected. "Why do you think I came out here? He wants to see ya."

"Bobby..."

"Dean, the only way you two knuckleheads are going to get over this is to talk to each other and straighten things out."

"But the way he looked at me..." Dean asserted with a pained expression.

"It was just an overreaction from the drugs...and everything he's been put through the last couple of weeks. Trust me I got a mouthful too, only I was smart enough to just tune it out. And he feels pretty bad about it. That's why he wants you to come in. He wants to make it up to you." Bobby explained like a father would to a distraught sibling. "So just get on in there, and kiss and makeup!"

Dean sat there uncertain of what he should do. He wanted to talk to his brother, apologize, beg if necessary, but there was always that cold hard fear of rejection he loathed the most that incapacitated him.

"Take a deep breath," Bobby coached, watching the boy's inner struggle.

Dean did so as instructed. Then a new feeling of hope filtered through his head, and he could feel his heart start to re-inflate, albeit slowly. He only hoped it wasn't another trick, otherwise he'd fall and wouldn't be able to pick himself back up. He slowly rose from the bench, placing his barely sipped coffee down.

"Now place one foot in front of the other," Bobby continued.

Dean rolled his eyes, striding toward the door. Once at the threshold, he hesitated with his hand on the doorknob. At that point, he had never felt so terrified in his entire life. He would much rather take on the fifty legions of demons stationed at Hell's gates than go through this. He took a deep breath. Then another. And another.

"Oh for God's sake, just go in already!" Bobby lashed impatiently.

Shaken up by the old man's outburst, Dean turned the knob and went in.

Bobby shook his head in annoyance, taking up Dean's cup of coffee. "I'm getting too old for this shit," he grumbled taking a sip, immediately grimacing and spitting the horrible contents out.

* * *

The room was exceptionally quiet, as usual. Dean stared at his brother's frame, who laid curled on his side facing away from the door. Swallowing several times to rid the lump caught in his throat, he approached the bed cautiously, inching slowly around the other side, praying the squeaks of his shoes wouldn't give his presence away. He came around and found that Sam's eyes were closed. Taking another deep breath, he whispered, 'Sammy."

Sam's eyes immediately opened to slits.

Dean could see his irises brighten when they focused on him. Unexpectantly, Sam extended out a shaky hand with the IVs still clamped on, obvious that he wanted Dean to take his hand. Dean obliged, grasping it tightly upon which Sam curled it into his chest, burrowing his head into his pillow. Dean hunkered down from the pull and he placed his other hand on Sam's shoulder, noticing there was a slight tremble. "What's wrong Sammy?"

"I-I'm...s-sorry," he rasped, breathing deeply aided by the nasal cannula under his nostrils.

"For what?" Dean asked confused.

"Everything...for y-yelling at you...to get out..."

"Sam, you don't have...I deserved it."

"N-no you didn't...I'm sorry," his voice descended into a low whisper, "I never should...h-have s-said those things...to you...b-before."

Dean squeezed his eyes tight for a second, astounded that this was it, the moment he had been dreading. "Sam you don't have to be sorry. I'm not mad anymore. I mean I was furious and I said some things to you that I shouldn't have..."

"I-I never...meant...any of it," Sam coughed, determined to have his say. "I...I..."

"Shhh, I know. I know," Dean reassured, feeling relieved that Sam wasn't still mad at him, though it did strike him as peculiar. "Look Sammy, I know we both said things we know aren't true. It was obvious that when we get mad, anything is bound to come out. And if truth be told I'm the one who should be graveling at your feet. I doubted you when I shouldn't have. I should have believed you over anything else. And I know all of this is my fault..."

"No," Sam interrupted desperately, "Pl-ease don't blame yourself."

"Too late," Dean piped jokingly, "But I'm over that now. It's you we have to worry about right now. And you don't have to prove anything to me. I've heard a lot about what you've done when I was gone, that I have to say…I'm kinda impressed. You really pissed off a lot of demons."

Sam didn't look thrilled. He cringed, appearing as though he was about to cry. "I'm s-sorry you had to make that deal."

"I'm not," Dean answered heroically. "I remember…I remember all of it, but I don't for a second regret making it for you. Not once. I did what I had to do to keep you alive. So how about next time when we get into a fight, why don't we just duke it out and go to a bar afterward, then call it a day, huh?"

Sam nodded again, his eyes brightening once more.

"Now that that's settled. I'll be right here and I'm not going anywhere, alright. Go back to sleep. That way, the sooner you get better, the sooner we can get the hell out of here. This place gives me the creeps!"

"Okay," Sam agreed closing his eyes and burrowing his head further into his pillow.

Dean stood there awkwardly hunched over. He bit his lip and looked around sheepishly, drumming his fingers on Sam's shoulder. Finally as the stitch in his back grew, he gave up. "Um Sam, can I have my hand back? This is kind of awkward."

The corners of Sam's mouth creased and he gently let go of his brother's, his friend's, his protector's hand.

* * *

The rest of the week had gone by in a blur, and Sam seemed to be gaining little strength each day, noted by the longer time intervals Sam would stay awake. Dean stayed by his side as promised, while Bobby took up occupancy on the cot. The doctor would come and go each day checking on Sam's condition, making the occasional comment on promising results.

As those days passed, Bobby sat back and watched with glee at the bond between the two brothers. They were laughing, although softly in Sam's case, and sometimes guffawing at some of the staff members' clumsiness when they would accidentally trip over a few misplaced boxes in the hallway. Bobby was loving it! It reminded him so much of the days when the two boys were younger, always messing around in stuff too big for them, getting into serious trouble, but loving every minute of it. It brought a smile to his face, even though he lost count of the times he had to roll his eyes when they, mostly Dean, lost interest in the orderlies and began teasing him.

Things were starting to look up, except the occasional mind-splitting migraine that would put Sam out for half a day at least, and for the odd moment with the nurse Caylee when she was finally introduced to the youngest. She shook his hand rather awkwardly, appearing somewhat suspicious, and left hastily afterwards, coming in only when she had to make the report of his vitals. Dean was curious by her peculiar behavior, but didn't think much of it, as he returned his attention back to his little brother slurring and speaking gibberish due to the mounds of medication he was on.

Though it would seem likely the trio had a lot to talk about, but unfortunately Sam's sleeping patterns had other plans. Sometimes Sam would be in mid conversation when he would suddenly become dazed and confused, instantly closing his eyes and drift off for a couple of hours. Dean's big brother mode usually wouldn't have minded the erratic sleeping occurrences, preferring his brother to get as many 'Z's' as possible, but sometimes it would become downright annoying. At one point, he had to catch Sam's head from falling into the bowl of soup the hospital provided, though that would be one of the top moments in the Winchester book of hilarious moments. So anytime that they could speak coherently to one another, they didn't take it for granted.

One morning, after the horrible morning breakfast, Sam became chilled. Pushing his tray trolley away, he pulled his blankets over his shoulders, curling on his side once more. "Ugh, it's chilly in here," he pronounced, shivering a bit under his covers.

Dean raised an eyebrow. To him, the room practically felt like they were basking in a sauna. "You better not be coming down with a fever, or I so have had it."

"Sorry Dean, but it's just flippin' cold in here," Sam whined.

Dean shook his head, bewildered by Sam's body fluctuations. He looked around at Sam's IV ports, and then the obvious struck him. "Oh yeahhhh, you're cold because they've got ya on something. Hepero…Hepin," he couldn't think of the word, "I think they said it was a blood thinner."

It was Sam's turn to raise his eyebrows. "You mean Heparin?"

"Yeah, that's the one," Dean exclaimed.

"What for?"

"You lost a lot of blood with the incident and through surgery, so you needed a blood transfusion. And I guess the drug comes with it."

"Yeah, I guess it would," Sam agreed snuggling into his blanket some more.

"And I guess I should tell you now that they used my blood," Dean mentioned reluctantly, somewhat embarrassed.

Sam opened his eyes. "They did. Why?"

Dean shrugged his shoulders. "Cuz they couldn't find a donor and I guess the shipment guy slept on the job," he lied sarcastically.

Sam chuckled a bit.

"So FYI, if ya get some strange urges at the most randomest moment, take my advice and just go with the flow."

Sam gave him a heart-warming smile. "Thanks Dean."

"No problem Sasquatch."

"Hey Dean, I've been wanting to ask you something, you know before I fall asleep again," Sam said tiredly.

"What is it?"

"How'd you find me?"

Bobby perked up from reading his magazine gazing at Dean interested.

Dean shrugged, not really wanting to lie to his brother again. "With a lot of damn luck, that's for sure. That and the God of technology and his basic phone service. Comes with an extra fee though, but it's worth it," he replied comically.

Sam snorted. "So...I take it you...tracked down the coordinates?"

"Uh huh."

"Go on," Sam urged.

Dean let out a heavy sigh reminiscing about that day and how he found Sam's bloody and nearly dead body. It tore him in two, but he knew he had to say something. "Uh, we used the coordinates and tracked the area down. We found the woods no problem and I guess what was left of the truck you cleptoed."

Sam stiffened.

"What did that Sammy?" Dean asked softly, and then watched as Sam donned a despondent expression gazing past his shoulder.

"N-nothing I've...ever seen before," he replied swallowing convulsively through his achy throat.

"What does it look like?" Bobby asked, intrigued.

Sam continued to stare past his big brother's shoulder. "Big...just big. It had these yellow cat-like eyes, friggin' huge canines," he shuddered, the image of the creature flashing before his eyes. He gulped. "It reminded me more of a lion than anything, only it didn't have the full figure of a lion. Definitely would give Mufasa a run for his pride. But it was fast. God it was fast. And the claws. I, uh...they weren't like claws, more like talons. It..." he bit his lip.

"It's okay Sammy, that's enough. You don't have to tell us anymore," Dean announced picking up on Sam's distress.

Sam nodded in appreciation, glancing back up at Dean to continue on with what he was saying.

Dean took the hint. "Anyway, after we found the truck, we followed your trail...and let me tell you it wasn't an easy trail to follow," he mentioned at Sam's peculiar expression. "After we found you, there was no way we could get my baby through, so we had to helicopter you out."

"You're kidding!"

"'Fraid not son," Bobby answered grinning like a circus clown picking up on Dean's inability to answer due to grinding his teeth, "And your brother flew with ya."

"No way!" Sam exclaimed disbelievingly.

"Yes way, and it was the most terrifying experience of my life," Dean stammered, "We nearly died! I hope you're happy!"

Sam snickered.

"No seriously dude," Dean proclaimed loudly, his eyes wide. "The pilot must've been on crack or something, because he started flying off with me and the other guy still in the cable. I would say it was cool, but I know that bastard was doing it on purpose...we had to dodge trees, and mountains..."

"Mountains?"

"Okay, little boulders on rock cliffs. Don't interrupt me," Dean spat. "Finally after the dude decided to let us up, that was when the pilot decided to get smart...I seriously wanted to rip his lungs out. We were doing swerves, and banks, and partial roll-overs. Seriously I think the pilot had it in for us," he seethed through clenched teeth, "I mean we even did a dive at one point. I was screaming like a baby."

Sam and Bobby couldn't help but laugh. "Yeah I would love to see you scream like a baby...I bet that would make a great video," Bobby mused.

"I k-know Bobby. We could probably put it on TV and win a lot of money," Sam agreed.

"Yeah yeah yeah, ya bunch of nit-wits. Keep it up," Dean grumbled.

"So how much of that story is actually true?" Sam asked.

"Come on man, give me some credit. That was totally one-hundred percent original."

Sam gave him a dry look.

Dean frowned despising the fact his brother knew him better than he knew himself. "Okay. Okay. About forty-five percent true. Mostly I just had my eyes closed," he surrendered.

"Sounds about right."

"But we did do some swerves though. They totally freaked me out," he admitted. "And hey I make a great storyteller. I could publish a book you know," he pointed his finger at Sam.

"Uh huh, I know," Sam remarked among a yawn. "B-but you're not going to tell anyone about the story with me in the bank are you?"

Dean's eyebrows peaked to their highest point, a look of utter surprise plastered over his features. "You heard that?"

"What story?" Bobby asked, but went unnoticed.

"Uh huh," Sam yawned again.

"But dude, you were out for the count. There's no way you could've heard me," Dean exclaimed flabbergasted.

Sam shook his head. "No I was in and out of it for most of the time. I mean yeah I was asleep, but I don't know how, sometimes I could hear you quite clear. And one of the times I heard you telling me that, and I gotta say I think I would make a great James Bond too," he chuckled at that, clearing missing Dean's fearful expression.

Dean sat there in his chair, gazing at his brother timidly. If Sam had heard his story, then what else had he heard? What else had he remembered? Oh God, please say he wasn't awake when Rufus came in. That would be downright cruel. Peering at his brother again, he asked in a serious tone, "You don't remember anything else do you?"

Startled by Dean's sudden change in attitude, Sam replied, "Like what?"

"Well, what all do you remember?"

Sam gazed past his shoulder again for a fleeting second before answering. "I don't know, really. Not much. Mostly I just remember hearing your voice. Why?"

"Nothing, just wondering," Dean answered, letting out a short sigh of relief, missing the saddened twinkle in Sam's eye. Then something else occurred to him that he had to ask about.

"Also, you wouldn't happen to remember any dreams would you?"

"Dreams?" Sam inquired, suppressing a smirk.

"Yeah you know dreams."

"I know what dreams are Dean, what's your point?"

"You wouldn't have had any recently regarding a...a certain chase, a certain drop off of a cliff, and heart-to heart conversation, would ya?" Dean asked him, chewing the inside of his mouth nervously.

The corner of Sam's lip unnoticably creased upward briefly before he donned a peculiar expression. "Dude, what are you talking about? Are you sneaking some of the supply?"

"Huh? No!"

"Then please go to sleep, you're starting to speak worse gibberish than I am."

"Ha ha funny," Dean retorted, pleasantly relieved at Sam's answer, but the natural feeling in his gut told him otherwise. He sat back in his chair while Sam appeared like he was going to take another nap and Bobby went back to his magazine. Caffeine hadn't sounded so good at the moment, and he contemplated about getting up and procuring a cup until he noticed the pained look on Sam's face.

"You alright Sam?"

"Yeah, just got another headache and my throat hurts is all. No big deal." Sam whispered, one hand messaging his head, the other messaging his throat.

"Yeah well, you were on the respirator for a while, so I guess your throat is bound to feel like a cheese grater on wood. At least your voice sounds a helluva lot better than the car wreck it used to be when you first woke up," he quipped.

"Nice imagery Dean."

"Anytime little bro, anytime."

* * *

He was in the woods again. The misty edges of the forest completely surrounded the area in a dull gray, making visibility nearly impossible. Realizing there was nothing else he could do, he strode forward. The mist soon condensed and billowed around him, enshrouding him in a cloud of white. He paused in his travel, extending his arms out and noticed they were all scratched up and bloody. A tickling sensation above his right temple forced him to reach up and touch his head, his fingers coming back inked in red. Confusion mixed with paranoia flooded his senses and he continued on faster, with a slight jump in his walk.

The fog writhed and wormed around him as if it were a temptress with its mind set purely on him, softly whispering seductive taunts in his ear. It severely creeped him out. Looking all around for a possible exit, but finding none, he strolled north, believing there was someway out of this hair-raising setting. As it happened, the fog would not dissipate and nothing remotely corporeal would appear in front of him.

The whispers from the fog increased, and now it sounded more like a bunch of gossiping teenagers. He clasped his hands over his ears attempting to drown them out. Instead they rose in pitch and the fog billowed haphazardly over his body. Now it felt strange as though soft hands were gliding up and down his figure in all places, guiding him forward. He didn't know where it was guiding him, but curiosity allowed the preternatural vapor to lead. And you what they say about what curiosity did to the cat!

As though the mist had never existed, it disappeared, as if opening a veil into the new area he was currently exposed to. He was still in the woods, but now it seemed like the area was familiar. He didn't know how or why, but unless he was experiencing déjà-vu, he would concede that he had actually been to this part of the woods. He recognized the grove of sinewy trees before him and the small hill with the sunlight streaming out in rays.

The sound of someone snickering behind him forced him to whirl around and gasp in shock. The hillbilly with the yellow arm band stood with a nefarious smile aiming his shotgun at him. Before he could react, the sinister yuppie pulled the trigger, stabilizing the barrel as it bucked up. An explosion of pain erupted in his stomach and he grasped it. He looked down at his hands, terrified that they were soaked in blood, his blood. He raised his head, but froze in fright as the hillbilly was gone. The pain began to escalate and blood began to pour out of his mouth in streams.

A voracious growl sounded behind him. His heart pounded, booming in his ears, and a God-awful jolt quivered down to the core of his soul as the fear took over. His eyes widened and he slowly twisted around to see his enemy. A blood-curdling cry escaped his lips when the creature that haunted his nightmares pounced at him, opening its megaladon jaws to devour its prey.

* * *

"AHHHHHH," Sam screamed himself awake, his body propelling forward into a sitting position. The pain in his abdomen flared and he fell back with a loud gasp, clutching his stomach tenderly. Amidst the pain, he tried to control his breathing as it was coming out in short pants, making him all the more dizzy. A few moans escaped as the searing pain dulled and he gritted his teeth.

"That must've been some dream you were having," a low voice to his left announced.

He whipped his head to the side to find his brother sitting in his chair watching him avidly.

"Dean?" he grimaced holding his stomach tighter, realizing that he must have had another nightmare.

"Hang on a sec," his brother said to him getting up and disappearing from sight.

A second later Dean emerged from a corner far back in the room, where Sam surmised must have been the restroom. In his grip, were a few ice-packs that he began folding and crunching. He unfurled the top of Sam's blanket and raised the side of his hospital gown, exposing the mending skin and began placing the cool packs on his sore areas. Usually Sam would have minded, feeling a little awkward, but the frigidness of the materials actually felt soothing. He let out a hiss when Dean placed another on a particularly acute spot.

"Sorry," Dean apologized.

"No, you're fine." Sam cringed waiting for the soreness to dull, "You don't have to do that," he said softly.

"I know, but it'll help."

"Thanks," Sam replied appreciatively. "Where'd you get those?"

"Underneath the sink," Dean answered replacing his gown and the blanket and sitting back in his chair. He looked up and noticed Sam's puzzled stare. "Found em' while I was snoopin' around."

"Why were you snooping around?"

"You might be surprised Sammy what a person will do for entertainment when they're bored out of their skull," Dean grinned.

Sam smiled trying to keep his body as still as possible and trying to keep his mind off the nightmare he just had.

"So what were you dreaming about?"

Sam groaned. "Nothing."

"Yeah sure I believe you, cuz tossing and turning and then screaming awake is just a normal day thing. I found that out on the discovery channel."

A small ounce of anger and annoyance sprung up in Sam, not exactly appreciating his brother's eagerness to know every detail of his weak tendencies. So he remained silent. He didn't want to tell his brother. He didn't want him to know that he was still scared of that day.

"Whenever you're ready."

Sam bit his lip forcing the tears to stay away. The images of the creature and the men who were primarily responsible for his stay in the hospital remained fresh in his mind. He wanted them to go away. But how? How would he ever get over this?

"It was nothing but a bad dream Dean."

"Obviously."

"Dean," Sam whined.

"Was it about that day?" Dean asked abruptly.

Disappointment made Sam turn his head away. He was embarrassed by not only his feebleness of being shaken up by a simple nightmare, but also...his longing for his brother to reassure him that the "bad guys" aren't going to get him, like he would do when he was very young. He was still ashamed to admit that he needed his brother, much like the time Dean admitted to him that he couldn't live without him.

He didn't know what it was that made him answer, but possibly that innate longing for protectiveness. In reality, he just wanted to get over this situation, this nightmare, this life. "Yes."

"What happened?"

Sam stared up at the ceiling. He couldn't bear to look into his brother's eyes. The events of that day flashed over his eyes a million slides a minute and it hurt. He let out a long harried breath. "I was so stupid," he said.

"What?"

"I was stupid," Sam repeated. "I wanted to believe I could do this case on my own."

Dean raised his head catching on that Sam was fulfilling his wish; he was letting him in, confessing to him about the events that transpired that nearly got him killed.

"I guess I was too angry to see otherwise," Sam continued.

Dean cleared his throat. "Yeah, that's partly my fault..."

"Still," Sam cut him off, "I should've seen what I was getting myself into and..."

"Sam, you couldn't have known that two assholes were going to pull a gun on you?" Dean assured.

Sam broke his gaze from the ceiling and peered at his sibling incredulously. "How'd you know about that?"

"When Bobby and I found you, the cops found the other guys."

"Cops? Whoa," Sam's eyes widened, immediately rolling over trying to get up from the bed.

"Sam, what are you doing..." Dean asked curiously pressing against Sam's shoulders.

"We've got to go Dean!"

"Sam, stop!" he ordered when Sam resisted against his hold.

"No Dean!" Sam protested swiping away Dean's arms, panting heavily from the strain it put on him, "If the...cops know, then...they're going...to come back. We c-can't stay here..."

"Sam stop, it's okay..."

"No," Sam continued to fight, trying to get off the bed, grimacing at all the strain it was having on his body.

"Dammit! Stop," Dean half-shouted harshly pushing Sam back down and securing his hold. Sam gazed at him timidly afraid to continue resisting.

"Listen to me," Dean continued when he felt now that his stubborn idiot for a brother was listening, "You are in no condition to leave right now"- he pushed down harder when Sam turned his head away-"Listen to me Sammy. You don't have to worry about the cops. That's not important right now, and if we do get figured out then we'll deal with it if it ever comes to that. But please, for right now will you just take care of yourself for a little bit, just a little bit. That's all I ask."

Sam seemed to have calmed down at that point, his breathing back to normal. "Sure, but if it comes to it, we're high-tailing it," Sam compromised.

"Fine." Dean agreed, replacing the ice-packs.

"They really found the other guys?" Sam asked, emitting a hiss when Dean replaced the pack on the sore spot. "How could they tell it was them?"

"They sort of put two and two together at the scene I guess," Dean answered settling back in his chair, glancing over at the empty space on the cot, and wondering how Bobby was doing in getting the rest of Sam's utilities from his motel room.

Sam fell quiet again staring up at the ceiling and for a short time an awkward silence fell between the two brothers. That was until it lasted too long and Sam decided to break the silence once again.

"They shot me Dean...They shot me," Sam whispered miserably. He heard his brother let out a long sigh.

"Like I said demons I get, but people are crazy."

"I know, but that's not what bothers me."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Then what does?"

Sam swallowed hard, his voice becoming raw from the overwhelming sense of emotion. "I, uh...I knew something was wrong. I knew it from the get-go. And my instincts were telling me to get out, but I stayed. I stayed for them and they nearly killed me...I...I thought I was going to die," his voice broke, a tear falling down the side of his orbit, "I thought I was going to die with you hating me, and I didn't want that..."

"Sammy, don't think about that," he interrupted not wanting Sam to live through the same anguish, even though this was probably the most heart-to-heart they had since his venture into the interworkings of Sam's mind. "What those guys did to you," he hesitated when a thought crossed his mind: "what if Sammy hadn't survived". He shook his head angered, "They got what was coming to them."

A couple more tears flowed down the sides of Sam's face. "Dean...how...how am I supposed to save this world if...if things like this happen?" he asked greivously.

Dean's heart ached for Sam's anguish. He understood completely what Sam was talking about.

"I c-can't see past the pain and the heartache anymore. I...just can't see how it's worth it anymore, especially with people like that living in it...I feel lost...I don't know what to do anymore...I..."

Dean grasped his arm motioning for him to stop. "Hey, don't say that. It's not your fault," he began tentatively, "Listen Sammy, I can't imagine what it was like for you. In fact, I don't want to know. But not everybody in this world are like those two inbred wingnuts."

"But I just feel worthless. I can't do anything right..."

"Yes you can. You have your entire life. You kept on living without me for the four months I was gone. You went off to college, kept fighting with Dad about wanting to do your own thing. I could never have done that. Hell, you typically come up with most of the plans in our little co-op anyway, so don't give me that."

"Dean, man. I just feel like I'm breaking in two. That I can't seem to hold it together," Sam confessed.

"Uh huh, and I wonder where I heard that before," Dean argued, thinking back to the time when his Dad was kidnapped.

Sam looked back up at ceiling, biting down on the inside of his mouth.

"Hey Sam, remember the time when the Djinn got a hold of me and put me into that certain dream world, where Mom was alive and we both were living awesome boring lives?"

"Yeah," Sam replied softly.

"Well, remember when I finally was zapped out of La-La land and I wanted to go back so bad. And you tried to reassure me that even though there are the aches and the pains and... that now that I'm starting to think about all the hard times we had, I'm wondering why we haven't committed suicide yet, but anyway you told me that it was worth it. All the lives we saved. All the families we prevented from having our kind of life. You told me that. And you know what, you were right. It is worth it."

Sam refused to force his eyes away from the bland ceiling, so Dean continued.

"Even though we never get paid, or thanked, or sometimes laid for that matter, we keep on trucking because I believe that was what we are here for. Otherwise...well, you know. So do you believe me?"

"What?"

"Do you believe me? That just because you have a pair of bad eggs doesn't mean the whole coop will give you E-coli. That's why they're thrown out, compeice compadre."

Sam snorted. "Yeah, I guess you're right. It was just those two guys that's all," he responded wiping the tear tracks away. "Sorry."

"What for?"

Sam shrugged. "Just for being a dumbass. You shouldn't have to be telling me this, so s-"

"Dude if you say sorry one more time, I swear I'm gonna take that pillow and smother you with it, okay. You've got nothing to be sorry about, so don't. My ears are bleeding right now," Dean antagonized.

That made Sam chuckle a bit. "Okay. Thanks Dean," he smiled, totally happy that his brother was back. At that moment, he felt like he was being glued back together, and that's how it was going to stay.

There was a knock at the door.

Sam lethargically turned his head to the door and watched as a pair of officers walked in.

"Mr. Carriden. I'm Officer Gibbons and this is my partner Officer Derek. We have a couple questions we'd like to ask you."


	18. Chapter 18

Both brothers simultaneously tensed at the sight of the two officers as they entered the room. The balding heavy set officer on the left with a handle-bar moustache introduced himself as Officer Gibbons and his partner on the right who looked like a double for Willard with gangly limbs and a pale gaunt face as Officer Derek. They sort of reminded Dean of a gothic version of the Mario bros. _Ha, Mario and Luigi meets the Adams Family_.

"We have a couple questions we'd like to ask you," Officer Gibbons said approaching the bed.

Dean became fidgety at seeing Sam's hesitancy. Realizing this was what Sam was uneasy about, he straightened up out his chair giving the two cops his most devilish death stare. "Guys, my brother is really in no condition to be put under your interrogation. So if you can come at another time..."

"Believe me when I say we would prefer to come at another time," Derek replied in a nasally voice, adding to the Willard effect, "But we're afraid this is urgent."

Sam turned to his brother. "It's okay Dean. This had to happen eventually," he reassured him.

He turned back to the officers and nodded, "Okay."

Dean watched as Sam tried to raise himself up to a sitting position. He spotted the level of difficulty it was for Sam and immediately moved in and helped pull him up. Sam gave him a look of gratitude before facing the officers.

"Again we apologize, but we need information about the animal that is behind a new slew of attacks," Officer Gibbons announced pulling out a pocket notepad.

Sam's body became rigid. "Th-there hasn't been anymore attacks, has there?"

Both the cops glanced at eachother nervously, obviously answering his question. Gibbons cleared his throat. "Unfortunately, yes there has been more."

"Whatever monster this is just demolished a town about fifteen miles outside Getterson's woods. Over twenty-five people were killed. All left in piles. What we can figure it just stormed into thier households and ate em' all up. Children too!" Derek informed somewhat anxiously, "Right now we're trying to evacuate other towns approximately twenty-five miles outside the area. Currently, people are curious and if we don't do something about this animal soon, I'm pretty sure hysteria and a wide-spread panic are about to occur."

Dean couldn't help the shock that took over his body. He sat back down in his chair, clasping a hand over his mouth in response to the news. Over twenty-five more people were slain by this unfathomable beast. A certain hatred for it blossomed within him, and he wanted nothing more than to roast it on a spit. But the problem was he had no idea what it was or how to kill it. No one else has seen it, but the people it devoured and his brother. He glanced back to Sam and his stomach dropped. Sam looked pale, paler than he had been. His breaths were uneven and he had the look of utter guilt and dolefulness written all over his face. Apparently whatever Dean was feeling was nothing compared to how Sam felt, and Dean knew it.

Gibbons cleared his throat again giving his partner a warning glare after witnessing the effect the situation brought on the two brothers. "We're sorry for having to place this burden on your shoulders, but if you could tell us what you were doing out there or just...basically what happened to you?"

Angered over the officers question, Dean wanted nothing more than to escort them out the only way he knew how, knowing the kind of effect answering that question would have on Sam, but he refrained from carrying out the task when his brother gave him a saddened look. It literally took him by surprise by not having seen that look since they were kids. He settled back in his chair, allowing his brother to go ahead.

Sam turned back to the officers. Grief-stricken and shell-shocked over the news, he decided to spill the truth, albeit a tweaked version of it.

"I heard about the attacks through the internet and I thought I could help. Came from a long line of hunters so I figured I could put my huntin' skills to the test...I called on a few people to help but they refused. I don't blame them...Well, I didn't want to make a long trip for nothing, so I decided to do it alone, and undetected."

"Even if you knew it was off limits," Derek interrupted harshly.

"Yes sir," Sam answered unperturbed by the officer's outburst. "It was stupid, I know. But I have experience hunting down...abnormal things, so I wanted to keep going. I wanted to get rid of the thing that was killing people."

All three listened intently to the youngest Winchester explain himself. None daring to interrupt as this was increasing hard on him.

"When I got there, I went to the forensic sites and saw the tracks . At that point, I realized it wasn't any cougar or anything else…weird, and that I was in way over my head, so I turned to leave. That's when these two guys showed up."

"These men?" Gibbons asked presenting two photos he pulled out of his notepad.

Sam recognized the two men in the photos as the hillbillies, and he gritted his teeth giving them a curt nod.

"Have you ever met these men before?"

"No sir."

"What happened next?"

"I told them to leave because it wasn't safe, but they refused…then we got into an argument. They kept thinking I just wanted to hunt deer or something for myself. Anyway that's when the thing showed. I told them to shut up if they wanted to live, and I guess they took it the wrong way."

"So foul play was involved?"

Sam nodded again. "They shot me down."

"Can you describe to us how they shot you?" Derek asked.

Dean gave them an incredulous look. "Don't answer that Sammy. You don't have to,"

He exclaimed after seeing the same expression on Sam's face.

"Please, we know this is difficult, but we do need all the details," Gibbons insisted desperately.

Sam swallowed hard. It was hard to find the words. Flashes of his memory of the tiny shards piercing his flesh bombarded him. He swallowed again. "Three times," he gasped, "They shot me three times. The first two times was with their shotguns. They came up to me after I was on the ground and I tried to fight." His voice broke, as he tried to swallow the lump caught in his throat. "I managed to get one down...broke his ankle, but the other I struggled with. Eventually I knocked the other down, but I didn't see his partner grabbing ahold of my gun. That's when he shot me in my leg."

Gibbons turned to his partner. "That does fit with the evidence we have and what Stevens has told us," he faced Sam again, "We have evidence that speculates foul play or that a fight went on, so if you will please continue."

"I couldn't go on...I...The guy then came up to me and pointed my guy at my head. I didn't know what to do. I really thought that was it, that I was going to die. But then that monster showed and took the guy out. Starting munching on him," he cringed. "I never seen so much blood...It must have been pure fear, because I got up the best I could and took off."

"You didn't stay and try to help?" Derek lashed.

Dean felt a surge of anger. No, of course Sam wasn't going to stick around for that. Why would he ask that? That definitely crossed the line. But he had to give it to Sam though, because he put the officer in his place.

"Would you?" the youngest asked calmly.

The officer remained quiet, obviously failing to come up with a good comeback.

"Anyway," Sam continued, "I would probably tell you not to go after it, because if it hadn't showed up, I'd be dead. But then it tried to make dessert out of me, so..." he paused pressing the palm of his hand to his head. A searing pain worked its way into the frontal region of his skull.

"What happened?"

Dean raised his hand concerned for his brother's well-being. "Okay, that's enough. Can't you tell this is making my brother upset?"

"It's alright Dean," Sam assured rubbing his eyes, "I have to talk about it anyway. I have to get it off my mind."

"Again, we are sorry, but we do need a very thorough interview."

"I understand," Sam breathed pinching the bridge of his nose when another pain flared. "All I can say is that it must have been pure adrenaline I was on, because I barely made it to my truck. Then the thing showed. Busted through my window and tried pulling me out. I tried fighting it off. Then the next thing I know it was ripping off the door. I…luckily there was an extra flare gun inside the glove compartment. I shot it and it backed out of the cab. That's when I tried to get out of there, but it beat me to the punch and knocked the truck over."

Dean clenched his hands listening to Sam's retelling of his encounter with the monster. "It must've been too preoccupied with the truck, because I crawled out of there and it didn't follow."

"Alright, but one more thing. What does it look like?" Gibbons asked inquisitively.

"Just like a big cougar," Sam lied.

"It made all this destruction and you say it was just a cougar, come on," Derek argued vehemently.

"That's what I saw," Sam answered sternly, which brought the aspiring argument to a close. He didn't want to tell them it was a creature of the supernatural. That would call on extra people to come out and possibly more deaths. And he downright refused to have those deaths on his conscience.

Realizing the interrogation was over, Gibbons nodded his head in appreciation, stowing his notepad away in his front pocket. "Thank you, that is all we need. We'll keep in touch to let you know if we find it or not." He nodded his head towards the door at his partner, and both left hastily.

Dean shook his head at their retreating backs. "Cops, man. No respect," he seethed.

Sam still had his nose pinched, scrunching his eyes at the searing pain that escalated. "Th-they're...just...doing their job...Dean," he gasped clutching the sides of his head.

Dean returned his attention back to Sam concerned at the way he was holding his head. "Another headache?"

Sam nodded still cringing. "I c-can't...explain it...they keep...on coming," he gritted his teeth.

"Hang on, I'll go get the doc to come get ya something," he got up to leave.

"Okay."

Dean left swiftly in track of the doctor. It didn't take him long to find the short scrawny doctor down another corridor reading notes off a clipboard. "Hey doc, wait up!" he called running up to him.

Dr. Stevens froze in his trek and whirled around just in time for Dean to meet up with him. "Oh hi Mr. Carriden. The authorities left I presume?"

"Yep."

"Yeah I am incredibly sorry about that. I tried to keep them away, but they had me overridden. Kept saying it was a matter of urgent security..."

"That's okay. That's not what I'm here about."

Dr. Stevens lowered his clipboard, giving all attention to the man before him. "Oh, okay then what's wrong? Everything okay?"

"Sammy's got another migraine."

"Yeah, cops'll do that to you," the doctor quipped.

Dean laughed, "I know what you mean. But it seems to be pretty bad. Is there anything you can give him?"

"Uh sure I can give him something. I can bring it up in a few minutes." Dr. Stevens kindly offered.

"That'll be great, thanks." Dean turned to leave, but stopped wanting to ask him something else.

"Say doc, my brother's too stubborn to admit it, but he's been getting these headaches almost periodically. Maybe I'm just being paranoid, but are they normal?" he asked praying the doctor agreed, hoping it wasn't the alternative.

Dr. Stevens pondered for a brief second. "Uh, I guess it sort of depends. Did he normally experience chronic headaches before now?"

An awkward smile flashed over Dean's face. "Ummm, well, for a short time he'd have a severe headache that came out of the blue, but they were just, uh...they went away," he answered nervously.

"Huh? Well it could be a resultant from that or they could just be a resultant from all the trauma he's experienced. Or if you really want to get technical, they could be brought on from adjusting back to the light after being asleep for so long..."

"Okay I get it, but that pain reliever?"

"Oh right, I'm on it. Now that you've brought it to my attention, we'll keep monitoring him and if the headaches worsen, then we'll do a scan," he assured.

Dean smiled again. "Okay thanks doc," and he took off back down the hallway towards Sam's room.

When he returned back to the room, Sam was lying on his side facing away from the door again quivering violently.

"Sam, are you okay?"

"No," Sam cried out anguished.

Dean instantly raced to his side. "What is it?"

"M-m-my h-head," he gasped, letting out a terrible groan.

"Sam?"

Sam didn't reply as his body began to writhe on the bed, the trembling increased. "D-dean it w-won't sstop," Sam begged. He turned over with tears in his eyes, his eyes blood-shot. Suddenly he threw his head back against his pillow, his body arching upward, "Arghh!"

"DOC," Dean bellowed racing around the bed to the emergency button and slamming his fist against it several times.

Sam's face turned crimson from the apparent strain and pressure, his body curving away from Dean. "DEAN. HELP ME. Oh God," he cried out, clenching his teeth.

"DOC. CAYLEE. SOMEBODY GET IN HERE!" Dean yelled out coming back to Sam's side. Sam turned over and latched onto his arm, squeezing it hard.

"That's right Sammy, squeeze as hard as you can," Dean encouraged watching as a glazed sheen spread over Sam's eyes. Sam's face grimaced, his body curling inward into a ball. Dean was at a loss of what to do. His brother was in terrible agony and there was nothing he could do.

Suddenly the lights began to flicker and the monitors began to go haywire.

"Gahh," Sam screamed.

Dean heard some shouts and then finally the staff ran into the room with Dr. Stevens and Caylee in the lead. "What's going on?"

"HELP!" Dean shrieked.

The lights continued to flicker, the machines a mess, and the youngest Winchester kept crying out in pain, grasping at his head unable to respond to the team's questions. He squirmed once more, and then the monitor blew up, it's parts fried up. Dr. Stevens tried to give him a sedative, but Sam kept squirming. Dean tried to help hold him down, but he continued to fight his hold.

Several of the nurses jumped in fright when a vase located in the back of the room exploded.

Dean was getting scared. He saw Sam's hand latch onto the bedrail and clutch it tightly, the metal groaned, caving in to the pressure. The lights above went out for a long second before coming back on and then the room began to vibrate. Dean and the staff looked all around fearfully wondering what was causing this. Then suddenly the window shattered when Sam let out another cry of pain.

Dear looked to the doctor terrified. "Doc, do something!"

The doctor stared at him paralyzed with fear.

"DEAN!" Sam cried out again, clenching his hands and curling back into a ball.

"I'm right here Sammy. I'm right here," Dean told his brother apprehensively afraid to admit that he didn't know what to do.

"Dean. _Gahh_...help me!"


	19. Chapter 19

A strong chilly breeze blew through the damp moldy hallways of the run-down warehouse, producing a high shrill sound resembling a screaming woman being bludgeoned to death. The sound brought delight to the demon's ears and a wicked smile formed over his lips. It reminded him a lot of his pleasant memories down south. His coal-black eyes looked out the trestled window once more observing the remote area where he was surrounded by nothing else but shrubbery and electrical towers. He scowled in frustration at how the powers-at-be will not allow him further passage to carry out his mission. His mistress will not be happy.

The vessel it was inhabiting paced back and forth under its control, unrelenting in the owner's constant begging for release. He laughed mirthlessly how the scum inside fought his dominion every second, but it was no use. Humans are weak.

The moon escaped it's cloudy canopy illuminating the massive room in it's effulgent glow. The demon followed it's silvery rays leading deep into the establishment's structure to a small stoned circle located in the center of the room. There, stationed at the circle was a woman, cloaked in black velvet, with thick lengthened blonde hair draped over the nape. Her arms moved in a eloquent circular manner and the demon could barely hear her hushed chanting.

He moved away from the window and in a blur was at her side admiring the craftsmanship of the stones arranged in a circular pattern with a large emerald stone centered in the middle of it. The woman had her eyes closed still chanting, waving her arms over a lit black candle. The flame grew in size and would change its bright-yellow color to a leaf-green every few seconds, the more she crooned.

"How's it coming?" he asked out loud.

Startled, the woman snapped out of her trance and peered up at him with eyes matching the emerald crystal. Shadows danced across her pale reflection as she stared at the black man before her somewhat defiantly.

"Well, is he dead?"

She knelt down her head staring back at the candle and replied in a mellow voice. "No, he is not."

"Why not?" he asked dangerously.

The woman let out a harried breath refusing to look into her captor's eyes. "Because it seems that the wards placed over the vicinity are more powerful than my power can penetrate."

"That's not good enough, witch!" The demon snarled. "Try again."

"I can't," she protested. "It nearly drained me of all energy the first time I broke through. And even so, it seemed as if the boy's powers fought back, unleashed in certain quantities, that to be quite honest has astounded me."

The demon stared at her murderously.

The witch stood up from her spot. "I managed to break through once I concentrated hard enough. And so the spell should have a lingering effect. If it managed to get to the Winchester, he should be feeling it for a couple days at least."

"Hmmm, suffering is not such a bad idea," Rufus mused tapping his chin. "But suffering is not the same as dead."

"Indeed," the witch replied, "But my magic cannot break through the wards. What I don't understand is why are you using me? Why not set the place up in flames?"

The demon refused to answer as it began to walk away.

"Unless of course, you felt something else there as well?" the witch said darkly.

"What are you talking about?" Rufus snapped whirling around.

The witch turned to face him, glowering at her enemy. "You know exactly what I'm talking about. I felt an extra presence residing amongst the walls. For that I am certain you must have felt as well in your first attempt of murdering the boy, and that would most likely explain why you have chosen this awful locale to partake in black magic, so you won't be detected. The same presence is the reason why you stayed away..."

"Quiet Tatiana!" Rufus lunged forward grappling her neck. The witch stared at him fearfully. "You know not what you speak of."

"Of course I don't," she gasped, "But neither do you."

At that, he shoved her away and turned around.

She coughed clinging onto her throat. "I can't make out what it is, but I do know it's powerful."

"Yes it is, but I cannot allow it to ruin my chances. I'm already on thin ice with the boss and if I don't carry through with this, I'm as good as dead," the demon said more to himself. "I won't allow that to happen. I won't."

He turned back to the witch and sneered. "Your services are no longer required."

"Good," she answered sternly, "Now let my sisters go. That was the deal. I was to perform the spell, you would release them. I performed the spell, now let them go!"

Rufus smiled wickedly again disappearing into a shadowy realm within the room. Tatiana grew angry. "Keep up your end demon, or..."

"Or what," he whispered in her ear appearing suddenly behind her.

Her body went rigid, repulsed at the evil so close to her.

The demon emitted out a haughty laugh gliding to the front of her.

She stared daringly into the monster's soul-less pits. "Let my sisters go," she enunciated sternly.

He smiled again. "You mean these two," he pulled two blonde severed heads out from behind his back.

Tatiana gave a frightful gasp backing away, tears forming at the sight of her beloved siblings and the look of sheer terror plastered over their dead heads.

Rufus laughed again at the witch's shock. He was ruthless. He knew it. But he wasn't aware of the anger or the fierceness that sprouted within the woman. Without warning, her face contorted into maddening rage and she expelled another chant. Electrical currents flared up within her palms morphing into a mass of lilac blue. With another shout, she released the amount of energy she procured, flinging it at his vessel. The demon only had a second to throw the severed heads away and dodge the incoming missile.

The electrical fire-ball skimmed the figure by an inch, sizzling a part of the flesh, and burning a hole into his attire, before exploding into the behind wall, shattering it to peices. The witch's rage had not relented, but she had no time to procure another fireball before the demon was behind her back. He grabbed ahold of her delicate neck and snapped it to the side. Her dead body fell limp in his grip and he dropped her to the floor.

Staring at the witch's corpse, he smirked. "Your kind never were more than anything you scrape off your shoe. Have a happy reunion," he said pushing her body over with his foot, and walking out of the room.

He walked steadfast out of the warehouse and up to a huddled mass of beings. His lips curled with disgust as the group of beings scattered apart at the sight of him, leaving behind what might have been the remains of the truck driver from the bloodmobile he stole earlier. The creatures looked at him with curiosity, their supernatural eyes gleaming in the moonlight and coagulated blood smeared over their serrated teeth.

"Oh good, now that I have your attention," the demon snarled. "Looks like I will need your support after all."

A tall beefy man with long tawny hair and dressed clad only in blue jeans strolled up to him, pitting his face up to his, obviously trying to intimidate him with his dazzling teeth, although he could've just killed him with his breath alone. "Give us another reason why we should bow down to you."

"Because," Rufus replied stealthily grappling the vampires neck and holding him down, squeezing the air of him. The vampire choked and struggled against the demon's grip, "I asked for your help. You said you wanted compensation, I gave it to you with the truck, now you will pay me your allegiance or I will have each one of yours, your clan, hell for that matter, your whole fuckin' race heads on a plate." He let the man go. "You understand?"

"Ye-yes sir," the vampire stammered getting back to his feet.

"Good," Rufus glowered, the moonlight irradiating his presence, "Now, we must act soon. My mistress is becoming more unsettled by the minute, and if you think I'm nasty, you haven't seen anything yet. I don't care how many humans you take out, as long as you take out the wards. All that matters is that Sam Winchester must die."

The group of vampires cheered, raising their hands in the air. Their time to shine and prove to the supernatural world of their valor was at hand.

* * *

Dean kept Sam cuddled close to him. The tremors that racked through his baby brother's frame were staggering. He held on to him tighter, keeping his arms wrapped around Sam's upper body, hoping that this invasion of personal space would comfort him, guide him through the woes of recovery. Sam let out a sniffle. He would do that often and instantly cough afterwards obviously trying to cover the sniffle. Dean peered down at his sibling. Sam's head was burrowed into the crook of his arm, one hand clenched onto his shirt, the other constantly pressing the morphine tap.

Two days had passed since Sam's major headache blowout and the pain he was feeling had not relented. The doctor's scrambled about trying to figure out the prognosis, meanwhile trying to keep the youngest on as much pain killer as possible. Dean and Bobby stayed by his side, mostly sponging off the sweat with a cool rag, taking turns in taking care of him when the doctors and nurses were busy. Eventually it got to a point to where Dean felt like Sam needed something to hold on to, so he sat on the bed and kept him close.

Dean's heart swelled. He knew his brother was in serious pain, and also that the doctors were giving him the maximum amount of morphine intake and it still wasn't enough. Tears formed at the brim of his lids sad for Sam's anguish and he grabbed a hold of Sam's hair, gently messaging his sweaty scalp.

"It's okay, Sammy, it'll pass. Just relax," Dean cooed. He had no idea if it was soothing to his brother. Sam hadn't said a word since the second morphine injection from the machine, and he must've been on his thirtieth by now. Dean hated the silence. It was almost suffocating. "Shhh."

"Mr. Carriden?" a soft voice called, stirring him from his trepid thoughts. He looked up towards the door and saw it was Dr. Stevens. Dean nodded his head in acknowledgement.

"Can I speak to you in private?"

"No…no!" Sam suddenly cried, his voice frail and terrified. Sam's grip on his brother intensified and he let go of the morphine tap, clutching another part of his brother's shirt.

"Shhh…Shhh," Dean coaxed, letting go of Sam's hair and started to rub his arm up and down.

"It's ok, shhh," he whispered noticing Sam's figure curling up into a tighter ball. He looked up at the doctor. "Can we talk here?" he asked calmly.

The doctor hesitated, shifting nervously from foot to foot. "I'm afraid what I have to say might, um…might…"

"Okay," Dean cut him off, understanding that it was about Sam and it might terrify his brother further. "One sec."

He looked down at Sam. "Sam, I need to talk to him, okay?"

Sam moaned glancing up, his eyes at half-mast. Dean tensed seeing Sam's mossy-green orbs filled with pain and shame. "It's okay. I'm not going far and I'll be back in two seconds."

Sam continued to stare at him, un-blinking. Dean sighed looking up. Somehow he needed to get through to his brother. He scanned around as if searching for an epiphany. Then his eyes rested on his normal residual chair and the light bulb over his head lit up.

"Here, Sammy," he said softly reaching over and picking up his favorite leather jacket. "Hold onto this for me, and I'll be back. I just need to go talk to your doctor. Can you do that?"

Sam gazed at him intensely. His eyebrows furrowed and he lowered his head back down. Sam knew Dean needed to talk to the doctor. Heck, he knew Dean needed to get up and stretch. They've only been holding onto each other for the last four hours. But the pain inside his head was so immense; he couldn't find any solace anywhere. The only place he found some form of comfort and strength to get through the terrible agony was Dean. He gave a short nod secretly not wanting to disappoint his brother.

"Good boy," Dean said softly handing him the jacket.

Sam's shaky fingers sluggishly closed around the leathery material, slowly cradling it against his chest.

Dean carefully lifted his brother up off him and gently laid him against the bedspread, pulling the blanket up over his shoulders. Sam curled more into his jacket and Dean felt now was the opportune time to leave. He followed the doctor into the hallway, refusing to leave a five-foot perimeter of Sam's door. The doctor turned towards him, his expression unreadable.

"Doc, please tell me you've got something. What the hell is going on? What's causing this?" Dean blustered apprehensively.

The good doctor looked as though he were at a loss of words. "We don't know." he said regretfully.

Dean's eyes widened with shock. "What! What do you mean you don't know?" he stammered.

"We don't know. The scans aren't showing any sign of a milady or any mass that could be causing the headaches. They're completely clean. As to why the headaches are this severe, I'm completely dumbstruck...We've tried every treatment we know and nothing's working. This has been my most difficult case yet, and I've ran into a dead end," he admitted with a loud tired sigh,

"We're only giving him morphine now, because that's the only thing we have right now that's strong enough to deter the pain. We're doing everything we can. I'm sorry, but it looks like he's in for a very rough time."

Dean gazed at the doctor with trepidation, his breaths coming in long ragged gasps. "Doc, no. It's been like this for two days. He hasn't eaten. He hasn't slept...I don't think he can handle anymore of this. I mean I can't handle this and I'm just watching!"

"I understand…"

"No!," he shouted.

Dr. Stevens stepped back in alarm.

"This can't happen. I mean he was fine. He was getting better, laughing, snoring, everything. And now this," he continued, scratching his head with shaky fingers, pulling a few strands out. The exhaustion and stress from the ordeal creeping up him yet again keeping him in a constant fitful and capricious state. "There's gotta be something...There's gotta be something you can do. I mean you're a doctor for Christ's sake. You have to think of something, anything!"

Dr. Stevens gazed at the man before him and he realized the bond between him and his sibling was much stronger than any he has ever seen. It's almost like he feels the same pain his sibling is experiencing. It was heartbreaking. He glanced away, peering at the wall, as if it were supposed to give him some reassuring advice.

He sighed. "There is something we can do, but only as the last resort. But you're not going to like it."

Dean's eyebrows furrowed registering the doctor's words. "What?"

"We can put Sam into a medically induced coma. It's against my recommendation, but given the circumstances, it might be necessary. With other cases of possible neural dysfunction, chemically induced comas have been used as a treatment. However, it does run a high risk."

"What risk?"

"That he might not wake up. If his body heals and we take him off, there's always a high risk that patients won't wake up. Usually what it does is it cuts off the neural receptors communication to the rest of the body, giving it time to recover. And so, there is always a risk of possible paralysis or prolonged vegetative state. Now your brother's strong, and I might be wrong. But…I don't see any other option at this point."

Dean glanced to his right and saw the nearest chair. He strolled over to it quickly before his legs gave out, his head collapsing into his hands. This was too much. Only days ago, they were trying desperately, hoping against hope, to wake Sam up. Now the doctor was suggesting to him that the only solution to Sam's discomfort was to put him down under with the chance that he might never open his teddy bear eyes again. He expelled a large breath of anti-septic air that he hadn't realized he was holding. He slid his hands down his face, rubbing his stubbled chin, pondering the information he was just briefed.

The doctor stood off to the side, allowing the young man his space.

Dean sighed again, his gaze traveling tiredly up to the physician. "I need to talk to my fa…my uncle."

* * *

A myriad of emotions filtered through Sam's brain. Most of which he believed, fear dominated over the rest. He never knew what unadulterated fear was until his brother told him what the doctors intended on doing with him. Yes, he wanted it, anything to get away from the sharp, agonizing pain that rippled through his mind. He was tired, more so than he has ever felt in his life. So the prospect should have felt comforting. But there was still that fear of never seeing the light of day again that scared him beyond all measure. He didn't know what to do.

He heard the door open and saw a file of doctors and nurses coming into his room, the main doctor carrying a large syringe full of transparent liquid. His eyes widened and he turned his head away, scrunching his eyes shut.

"Shhh. It's ok," he heard a voice say.

He opened his eyes again and saw it was his brother hovering over him clasping his hand tightly.

He couldn't help but stare into his brother's orbs, every emotion indicating his distress emanating from his own. "De…"

"Hey, it's okay. They're just gonna make you sleep for a while, that's it," Dean said softly running his hand through Sam's hair. "It's gonna be okay, and when you wake up, I'm gonna be right here."

Sam grimaced. His brother's words were soothing, but they still didn't quell the persistent fear that raged through his mind.

Dean continued to run his hand through Sam's hair. "Hey you remember that dream you told me about when you were like…five, the one where you were chasing a lollypop and you were fighting tooth and nail for it from all kinds of raccoons and ladybugs and stuff, because you absolutely had to have it? You wouldn't stop for nothing, until you had it."

Sam gave a stiff nod. _He remembered that!_

"And remember when you finally got that lollypop. You were so happy, and then suddenly Mom appeared in the dream."

_Ah, no wonder he remembered. He practically blew up when I told him that!_

"Just think about that dream. Think about Mom and how happy she was when you were around. Go. Go get that lollypop. And when you do, bring it back cuz I want a bite out of it. Okay?" he smiled.

Sam gave a weak smile. His brother certainly was weird. "O…kay."

Dean looked up at Dr. Stevens and gave a nod. The doctor immediately plunged the readied needle into the large I.V. port; the liquid began making its way lazily down the tube and into Sam's bloodstream.

Sam's eyes didn't begin to droop until a few minutes later. He squeezed Dean's hand again and Dean squeezed back.

"I'll be right here Sammy when you wake up. It's okay," he said seeing Sam's eyes at half-mast. He began to feel Sam's grip loosen.

The room around him began to dim and he felt a warm blanketing sensation envelope his body. _If this is what dying is like, it's not so bad._ He looked at his brother one last time; the outlines of Dean's face became hazy and soon he was becoming one blurry shape. He closed his eyes allowing the darkness to consume him, some words involuntarily escaping from his lips.

Dean watched as Sam's eyes closed and his head went lax to the side. Though he doubted anyone else heard the barely audible whisper, he heard it like it was being said on a microphone.

_Love you big brother_.

So Sam did remember seeing him. Tears suddenly sprang forth and cascaded down his face in streams and he couldn't stop them. Suddenly, it felt like an anvil dropped in his gut and he felt sick. All those years ago when the brothers learned they had nothing but each other. And he vowed after the Striga attack to look after him, to take care of him, to save him. Because that's what big brothers do. He wiped at the tears hastily, drying the stains on his leathery cheeks with his sleeve. He squeezed Sam's hand one final time before letting go.

The doctors hooked up the necessary equipment to monitor Sam's vitals and filed out of the room one by one with downtrodden expressions as if they were in a funeral march. Dean lifted the blanket over Sam's shoulders and bent down softly caressing the top of Sam's crown, flattening his untamed bangs.

Caylee, who had remained inside the room, approached him gently grasping his bicep. He gave her a stern look. "I trust you no one will leave him alone for even a second." His voice was broken, but it still held the furtiveness and determination it needed to relay the message.

Caylee nodded in affirmation. Her eyes shown with vigor, relaying to him she meant her word. "I will stay with him and I won't let him out of my sight."

Dean straightened up and turned to Bobby, who had stood silently and stoically to the side the entire time. "Let's go. We got a kitty to fry."


	20. Chapter 20

_Here we go again!_ Dean thought bitterly, leaning against the hood of the Impala.

The dynamic duo stood in front of the entrance to the sinewy landscape admiring it with profound distaste. They had been there for awhile watching and at most listening to every _caw_ and _whoop_ the forest emitted. A strong wind blew through the scenery causing the trees to stir and rustle as if they were a cheering crowd shaking rattles and pom-poms ecstatically. Dean couldn't stand it. In a way, he felt like they were ogling at him, taunting him, daring him to _bring it._ He scoffed rolling his eyes at the imagery. Every minute that passed as he stared at the dark cedars stoked the fire that was the insatiable hatred brewing in his heart. Every fiber of his being just wanted to light a match, give Smokey the finger, and watch it burn. But...how exactly would that be productive?

Bobby also watched the forest with a less-than-serene interest, but also keeping an eye on the eldest Winchester standing next to him, making sure he didn't do anything irrational. He also picked up on the eeriness and danger the forest displayed. But instead of conjuring threatening thoughts, he smiled back at it, not wanting it to gloat if it ever triumphed over them. Understanding that time can be a trickster sometimes and it can escape rather unobtrusively, Bobby shifted his weight and cleared his throat disrupting their little nature watch.

Dean looked his way and immediately took the hint that it was time to get going. Nodding his head, he pushed off the hood and strolled back to the trunk, opening it swiftly and getting out his Dad's army duffel. He handed it to Bobby who met him there and began piling arsenal in it.

After he finished compiling anything and everything he thought they would need, he nodded once again closing the trunk door. Bobby then took the duffel and dropped it and opened the backdoor retrieving a plastic mart-bag. Intrigued, Dean watched as his mentor took out what appeared to be blackened metallic cylinders and placing them into the duffel.

Confused and curious, Dean let out a little _ahem._

Bobby peered up and smiled at the young hunter's quizzical expression. "Mustard gas."

"Mustard gas! Where the hell did you get that from?"

The old man shrugged placing a few more canisters inside the bag. "Made it."

Dean gaped at him marveled. "Huh? Bobby I knew you were smart, but not that damn smart. How were you able to make mustard gas?"

Bobby returned him with a mischievous grin. "Sometimes the idiots on the internet can be a blessing."

"Bobby," Dean began a little confused. "Local shops wouldn't carry some of the chemicals to make mustard gas..."

Bobby gaped at him like he was an ignorant dufus made out of ceramic. "We've been at a hospital for about three weeks, dumbass. Duh!"

"Okay? But when did you find the time to make it?" asked Dean, still a little confused.

"Just before the shit hit the fan with Sam when I went to his motel room."

"Oh, I was wondering how long it took to get his crap."

"Yeah, I took the time there to sort of stock up, knowing that sooner or later we would be coming after this thing. Didn't want to take the chance of coming unprepared considering we have no unearthly idea of what we're going up against, so I decided to pull out all the stops," Bobby explained reaching into the plastic bag once more.

"Good thinking," Dean acknowledged picking up the duffel.

"That and," Bobby wiggled a grenade bomb between his fingers, "the guy at the tool shop was very helpful in locating these," he placed it inside the duffel along with a couple more.

Dean smiled taking out two shotguns, one he handed to the old man. "Bobby, you're awesome."

"Uh huh, I know," Bobby answered taking the shotgun graciously and closing the backdoor.

"You ready?"

"No," Dean replied blatantly taking the lead towards the forest of doom, "but let's get on with it."

Bobby agreed following closely behind carrying his shotgun over his shoulder like a continental soldier and a backpack filled with the necessary first aid equipment and other gear on the other shoulder.

They stopped at the clearing in between the guardian cedars. Dean scanned his surroundings cautiously as if searching for a lurking foe, then brought his eyes to the forefront where nothing but shadows and an impenetrable darkness loomed. One side of his brain bade him to go on determined to put the horrible spawn of Satan to rest, but the other resisted because frankly it wanted him to live. He glanced down and saw the line that set the boundary into the forest, one side being completely consumed in darkness, the other side, the side which he and Bobby stood completely consumed in light. He lifted his foot determined to cross the threshold, but suddenly it hesitated as if afraid. Taking in a deep breath, and ignoring the tiny voice in the back of his head, he brought it over.

"That wasn't so hard, now was it?" Bobby chastised pushing on his shoulder, also stepping over the boundary and into the forest's clutches.

Despite taking on a devilish façade, the forest was quite beautiful. As they trekked across the leaf-strewn slick ground, patches of sunlight broke through the canopies overtop lighting the gloomy atmosphere. The glimmer effect made the trees and dense shrubbery seemed vibrant with color; groves of oak and birch dazzled in an array of red, yellow, and green. The rows of Pine they passed gave off a sweet fragrance that made their insides tingle with delight.

Dean rolled his eyes. Now it felt like the forest was trying to kiss their ass, make amends or something so they wouldn't complete the task they came there to do.

Mounds of detritus crunched under their soles, producing a soft echo. The timberland seemed to condense the more they traveled through it. At some point, Bobby was wondering if they had passed the forensic sites they intended on using as a reference point because nothing was coming into sight. They pushed past branches and overstepped thickets of thorns, thankful their jeans protected them against most of the brush. Squirrels and opossums scurried about whenever they encroached upon their territory fleeing from their presence, and woodpeckers pecked faster the moment the hunters were within eye-shot. It sort of gave Dean a sense of pride sensing how their presence had such an effect.

Walking around a particularly large spider web, Dean's foot snagged on a root and he tripped. Embarrassed, he blurted, "Friggin' root! You know I always hated camping. And it wasn't about the tents or the starting fires either."

"What was it then?" Bobby asked stepping beside him.

Dean paused and gave him a wild look. "Have you looked around?" he exclaimed waving his hands out, "this entire place just screams out _Death."_

A chuckle escaped past Bobby's tough demeanor.

"It's not funny. In here ya got bugs and raccoons, and things with names you can't even pronounce. They stare at you with these creepy beady eyes. Ugh, they're evil, I tell ya. Not to mention if you get stuck in friggin' tree sap, crap never comes off," he ranted.

"So you're telling me you're afraid your head will get caught in a spider web?"

"I didn't say I was scared…"

"Oh good, cuz your head's stuck in a web," Bobby pointed out.

Dean looked up and sure enough he was standing in an oversized sticky mass of arachnid excrement with a lovely looking brown spider the size of a fist not three centimeters from his head.

"Eeek!" he cried out launching forward flailing his arms over his head trying to get rid of the sticky remnants off his skin.

Bobby couldn't help but laugh.

Dean scowled at the old man's insouciance for his reaction. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, old man. Ugh. Yuck," he piped wiping the side of his face.

"Only you Dean."

"All I gotta say is thank God for civilization. Nature boy never did suit me," he muttered walking on.

"Hmmm hymph, not like Sam anyway," Bobby agreed, "That boy was always in tune with everything, wasn't he?"

"Hmmm hymph, even at my discretion."

"Yeah well, your actions never surprised me when it came to your brother. You always tried to be there for him, no matter the cost. But there is one thing that did surprise me though."

"What?"

"I'm surprised you came on this hunt. Mind me asking why?"

Dean let out a long sigh. "Sam," he answered dolefully, "he's the main advocate behind it."

"How's that?"

"I don't know, it's just...," he paused sucking in a large breath giving him time to find the words. After a long moment, he decided to continue, "When the cops came in and told us what happened to the town, Sam gave me this look. And…I don't know, it's…it's that I haven't seen that look since we were kids, and it…man this is kind of embarrassing."

"What?" Bobby urged. "Come on boy, I ain't the media."

"Uh, it's was, uh…to me, it always said that _big brother could take care of anything_, and I don't know... it kinda made me feel proud, like I was powerful or invincible or something. Like I could do anything," Dean explained sheepishly.

"Oh, that's okay. Sam always looked up to you," Bobby reassured.

"Yeah, but it just struck me. It struck me harder than the news of the town. And what I also got from it though was…um, he was saying _why hadn't it been taken care of_. Or like he was trying to say _why do you have to wait for me or don't let other people die because of me_," he breathed disbelieving he was being open about this touchy subject, especially with it concerning one of the solitary compounds of his and his brother's relationship. He took another long breath feeling slightly confident in confessing it to Bobby, who was like a surrogate father to him. "And I know how his mind works, he's probably guilt tripping all over it and I guess for some reason I don't want him waking up and it still hasn't been taken care of. Cuz he'll feel worse if it's not, and that's not something he needs right now."

"You got all that from just one look. Hmmm, Sam should go on a sitcom," Bobby replied sarcastically.

"Yep. He's a talker...even in his facial expressions."

"You're not worried that a demon won't come while we're gone?"

"Hell yes I worry about it!" Dean half-shouted frantically, "And thanks for reminding me," he remarked bitterly. "But that's why I want to get this done as quickly as possible, if you get my drift."

"Yeah."

"Plus I felt a lot better when you told me about the wards you set up all around the place."

"Uh huh, not a single demon getting into that place. Even if a nutbag were to knock one out accidentally, the others won't falter," Bobby insured.

"See I feel better already," Dean beamed.

"Your not worried Caylee might do something to him?"

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know, she seemed kind of odd lately," Bobby conceded.

Dean eyebrows furrowed registering the man's notion. "Yea, I picked up on it too. But she's not possessed because she got through the salt lines. So I don't know what to tell ya, I can never tell anything with women. She either must be having a bad week or it's that time of the month."

"Yeah it could be. And maybe I'm just being paranoid."

"Hmmm, you and me both. But I don't know with her, she doesn't scream out _evil._ And I feel like I can trust her, otherwise I wouldn't have left. Don't ask me why, because I really don't know."

"Okay, I getcha. And that's something else that surprised me too. Why didn't you opt to run down the same road you did before?"

"You mean with the deal?"

"Yep."

Dean let out an uneasy laugh. "Trust me I thought about doing it again. I really did, especially after the demon sliced Sammy's neck," his eyes glazed over from the sorrow and the horror that night instilled, "But I did a little more thinking and, uh, I realized that after all the mess we've gotten ourselves into, no side would take us. We're too much trouble. And I think that's what really put me over the edge for a bit. Sam could've died and there wasn't anything I could do about it."

Bobby huffed rubbing the back of his neck. "Well it's good in a way that you didn't try, cuz I don't know what that would do to Sam if he comes out of this."

"He will come out of this. That I have faith in," Dean replied furtively, "He's strong and I think now he's going to try and come back to us."

Bobby looked at him like he had three heads, and shook his head. "Maybe I shouldn't ask."

"Yeah, it's better you don't," Dean replied with a casual smirk, before continuing on leaving Bobby to his own thoughts. _It's okay Sammy. Big brother is going to take care of everything._

They continued to travel for a little while further still in search of the sites. Dean's patience was beginning to wear thin, partially due to the nervousness that would steadily accumulate. Everything around him appeared deadly still the further distance they made like they were entering some barren wasteland. And the longer it took them to find the forensic sites, the more uneasy he became.

"Hey Bobby, I got a question?" Dean asked not being able to handle the eerie silence anymore.

"Yeah."

"Why are we the only two nutjobs doing this, anyhow? I thought since after what the cops said, they'd have a track force or brigade of some kind."

"Uh huh, but those things take time to gather, Dean. Which is why we have to do this before they do or you know suspicions are gonna rise, especially if they see it."

Dean nodded in understanding. "You're right. If the cops find out that its nothing normal, the shit really is gonna hit the fan. How long do you think it'll take them to get their shit together and head out?"

"Uh," Bobby began looking towards the sky searching his brain chamber for an answer. He shrugged, "I don't know. I reckon four days, five at the most."

Dean stopped and stooped at him, "You mean that we have less than twenty-four hours to take care of this thing?"

Bobby pondered his estimation a second before nodding 'yes'.

"Oh great," Dean rolled his eyes. "But hey Bobby, if this animal took out a town about ten miles outside the woods, why are we tracking it in here? Couldn't it be anywhere?" Dean inquired.

Bobby gave him a shrug. "Yeah you're right, it could be anywhere. But we gotta start somewhere, and I thought that the place where the hikers first bit the dust would be a mighty fine place to start," he explained. "Besides, the cops said that's where they found the two bumfucks that shot Sam. Sounds like whatever this thing is likes to roam around that area."

"Okay, but we gotta find it first. Good grief, are we lost?" Dean stammered eying the scraggly woods around him.

"Uh, we shouldn't be. We were traveling north," Bobby said retrieving his GPS out of his knapsack. He turned the device on and read the coordinates. "Uh, according to this we have another fifty yards to go."

"Well that's comforting," Dean replied.

Just then a large crack sounded somewhere to the right of them causing a sonorous echo. Both hunters tensed and then immediately ran over to a nearby tree and crouched down. They looked all around for the source, hoping that the cause of it was, and yet at the same time wasn't the giant kitty they set out to find. Listening intently to their surroundings, they learned that not a single critter rustled, nor a cicada sang; it was dreadfully silent.

The crack sounded again keeping them on alert. They didn't bother to move, or dare let out a loud breath. Dean fingered the trigger on his shotgun happily, his eyes swiveling back and forth frantically, searching for the possible enemy. Bobby stayed just as tense, mimicking the same movement. Their instincts were on high alert, bordering paranoia, ready to flee at any moment.

Suddenly, a rustling noise of something striding towards them permeated the air, increasing their unstable awareness. The rustling came closer and their bodies became more rigid, the hairs on the back of their neck were at a standstill, and their eyes enlarged to twice their size. This was it, the grand finale!

The animals footsteps could be heard mere feet away. A sheen of sweat broke out and had blanketed their palms, but their fingers remained firmly attached around the triggers. The footsteps now were inches away, right behind the very tree they were stationed at. It was coming around to greet them. Dean's breath hitched ready for the attack. And then it jumped from around the tree, it was….

"A _freakin'_ raccoon," Dean clamored standing up as the little grey and black critter sat back on its hind legs and gaped at him with its beady eyes.

Dean snarled in disgust eyeing the raccoon with malice. For one, he couldn't stand the varmint, and two, it put his senses into maximum overdrive for nothing. Though he was slightly relieved when it was the raccoon and not the creature, the hairs on the back of his neck, however, never fell back down.

Without warning, the raccoon suddenly made a face and screeched loudly, scampering off. Bobby and Dean both glanced at each other puzzled.

Then a menacing growl sounded behind them.

Dean felt the pit of his stomach drop. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bobby was taut and had a look of sheer determination, either that, or the man was a very talented actor in concealing his fear. Unconsciously both agreed on the same maneuver, and each turned around simultaneously pulling their triggers.

It had no effect, however, as something enormous and heavy barreled into them, knocking Dean out of the way. The giant cat-like monster hooked a hold of Bobby's jacket, rolled overtop of his head, and flung him up into the air. The old man's face froze in terror as his body propelled high into the sky, toppling into the ground a good distance away.

The creature rapidly rolled off its back and pounced up, heading in Bobby's direction, licking its chops.

It took a long second for Dean to maintain a grip on his swirling vision. His whole body hurt as it felt like he was just hit by a truck followed by a steamroller. The gruesome sound of an animal eager for dinner brought him back to see the massive creature walk away from him. His eyes widened at the size of it. _Sam was right. It does look like a weird defunktafied lion, only bigger...and meaner. _

Dean immediately scrambled to his feet.

"HEY!" He screamed unloading another round of buckshot. The pellets rebounded off its thick hide and the creature hurried along, until it was at Bobby's side. Fear ensnared everything, holding his heart hostage.

"LEAVE HIM ALONE YOU SON OF A BITCH!" He hollered unloading another round coming up beside it.

The cat suddenly performed a pirouette swinging out its massive paw and Dean rolled just in time before the paw lopped off his head. The beast spat and snarled coming up to where he lain among the turf. He tilted the gun upward and let off another shot, the buckshot pellets snubbing the monster's jaw. It backed off lapping its box-like snout gingerly with its long, icky tongue.

"BOBBY! GET UP!"

Bobby laid on the ground stunned, the wind knocked out of him from his flight. He heard the several gunshots and Dean's desperate shouts, but his body chose to ignore his mind's impulses to _get up_. His ears picked up on the beasts' paws stopping by his head. He looked up in horror as the cat stared hungrily at him.

"Here. Here. Here!" Dean yelled again waving his arms trying to keep the cats attention off Bobby. The cat looked up.

"Bobby up now!" Dean screamed watching the old man slowly roll over and unzipping the duffel, "Bobby, whoa…" he ducked as the fiend swung at him again. Reaching his full height, he took aim at the cat's other leg and unloaded his gun. The monster howled with a vengeance, eyeing him murderously before swiping its paw at him again, hitting its mark.

Dean yelped as he felt a hundred pinpricks slice into his skin on his arm. Blood flowed freely from the gashes, and he felt his grip on his gun loosen. Immediately he switched the gun into his uninjured arm, gripping it mad-tight. Shaking his head to rid of the vertigo that befell him, he aimed his gun at the approaching beast.

The cat stalked closer, unafraid. It pranced. Dean jumped to the side a split second before it landed on top of him. He didn't move fast enough. The talon-like claws came down and created six independent slices across his shoulder blades. Unable to mind the explosion of pain, a loud primitive cry escaped from his throat.

Bobby jerked at hearing Dean's scream. He dug faster into the duffel and pulled out the tiny grenade. Flipping the lever and pulling the pin out, he tossed the explosive towards the monster. "DEAN GET DOWN," he bellowed.

Dean didn't need to be told twice. He instantly dove to the earth and formed the fetal position as the device went off, producing an ear-shattering boom and sending tufts of dirt and foliage in the air. The small explosion knocked the beast off its feet and it landed several yards away.

Bobby was the first to mobilize. He sprung up from the ground and raced over to Dean's side and pulled the disoriented boy to his feet. "Go. Go. Go. Go. Go!" Together they took off running like two bats out of Hell.

The monster got to its feet shaking its body like a wet dog. Its nose perked up sniffing the air. Turning in the direction of the sweet metallic scent of blood, it sprang forward heading in that direction.

Dean and Bobby didn't stop once their legs were in high gear. They swept past bushes and around small groves of trees, interweaving among the larger ones. Much to Dean's displeasure, a stitch grew in his side, but if it weren't for the fear riding his backside, he would like nothing more to stop and breathe. However, the monsters snarls and ever-approaching paws had him run faster. Again like he was running from the werewolf, he didn't know where he was running to, only as fast as he can to get away from the predator. He was beginning to understand what a gazelle felt as it was chased by a cheetah. He turned to look at Bobby, but his mentor was nowhere in sight.

"Bobby!" he gasped.

Bobby didn't answer.

"BOBBY," he yelled dodging past a huge cedar. When the old man still didn't answer, he stole a glance around his shoulder and yelped as the monster was running a couple yards behind him and gaining…fast. Well, at least he knew the thing didn't have Bobby, which made him feel easier. The beast constantly exhaled blaring caterwauls, obviously announcing to the forest that its dinner was in sight. The hairs on the back of Dean's neck were stone, they were so tense, and his _flight_ system was yet again labeled as _turbulent._

The wind was harsh on his face and it produced large tears to form out of the corners of his eyes. His breath came out in ragged gasps, as the stitch in his side grew worse. The gashes on his back and arm seared every second the fabric of his shirt and jacket jostled back and forth. Just based on the pain alone, he knew this was no dream. He could feel the monster's putrid breath on the back of his neck, scaring him down to his core. He began to think that this might be it. Sadly, the image of his brother lying in a coma flitted through his mind aiding the thought that he was at death's door yet again. If this thing caught up with him, which knowing his luck it would, he would never see him again. The large fat tear accumulating in his left eye socket fell down as he heard the creature snarl again behind him. He could feel it closing in on him.

A dream-like haze filled his mind, the kind you get when you know your life is about to flash before your eyes. And sure enough an image sprouted. But instead of flashes of his abnormal upbringing, an image of him and his brother laughing and joking in the Impala filled his eyes instead of the horror he was facing. They were driving off to some unknown terror and his brother sat beside him smiling, regularly scoffing when Dean would regularly tease him about his geek habits.

He couldn't help it, even though he was running, a huge grin appeared on his face. That image made him happier than he ever could remember being. If people had seen him at that very moment, they probably would have thought he was a deranged lunatic laughing in the face of death. The image faded away instantly as the creature let out another tiger-like wail. Disappointment filled the empty chamber of his heart. He wanted to see his brother again. But how?

Just then an enormous cedar loom straight ahead of them ...and an idea formed in his head. He was already made into Alpo before, no way in Hell was he going to be made into the _Great Value_ brand of kitty chow now.

Letting out an enormous war cry, he lengthened his stride leaning forward heading straight for the tree. The beast behind him snarled once more before bending back on its haunches and leaping up with its paws extended out far and wide. Dean could feel the cat's shadow overtop of him and was waiting for the teeth to sink into his flesh. The moment of truth…

_**Boom.**_

A loud thunderous noise filled the area and a quivering tremor rippled through the ground. The monster was so close to him there was no way Dean would have escaped its clutches. At the last moment, Dean swerved out of the way just as he were about to hit the grand cedar. The monster already in the air couldn't avoid the massive obstacle and slammed into it, effectively knocking it out cold. It's body fell to the earth, slumping against the sodden grass.

Dean cooled his heels a few feet away, hunching over with his hands on his knees and gulping in as much air as his lungs could fill out. He wiped the sweat that pooled off his brow and neck still trying to maintain a control on his breathing.

"Son of a bitch," he mumbled straightening out his back.

The sound of footsteps caused him to look up and see Bobby running up to join him.

"Ah thank God," Dean gasped, "For a second, I thought you were kitten chow."

"Puh," Bobby scoffed. "You wish!"

"Where'd you go?"

"I think during our little escapade, we accidentally split off in opposite directions. Glad it went after you!"

Dean sneered. "Oh bite me," he said coming up to the unconscious monster and getting a good look at it. _"Mannn!_ You're _fugly!"_

Bobby also analyzed it, observing the scales that looked liked sequins glinting in the waning sunlight blanketing its legs and most of its chest plate. His lip curled at its back. The darkened ridge looked like burnt tarnished skin, tough and nasty with spiky hairs protruding out in a single row. A rut formed in the soft dirt from the animal's heavy breathing. Bobby patted its side instantly jerking his hand away reacting to the animal's bristled fur.

"Dammit," Bobby swore shaking his hand causing Dean to emit a chuckle.

Dean ended his chuckling when a tiny dizzy spell fell over him. Once the spell disappeared, he asked, "Were we ever gonna come up with a legit plan when we got to the sites?"

Bobby pressed his lips together. "Probably not," he shrugged, "But I do know I wasn't planning on it showin' up this soon. It was a close call, but quick thinking Boy."

"Yeah," Dean laughed nervously checking out the scratches on his arm; the bleeding slowed down to a trickle.

"Alright kitty," Bobby said out-loud lowering his shotgun to the middle of the monster's forehead, "time to be euthanized."

He unloaded the rounds in both barrels expecting to hear the monster's last breath. Instead they had to dodge the ricocheted pellets.

Dean looked at him seriously. "Hymph. That can't be good."

Next the cat began to purr and then growl. Its eyes began to flutter. Its growl rose in pitch and the hunters watched as its jaw sidled in the ground. It was starting to wake up.

"Oh shit," Dean blared, "Oh shit. OH SHIT!"

"GO," Bobby screeched as the cat was rising itself on its front legs.

Again, both took off heading west. The dizziness Dean felt earlier became a stronger captive and he found himself shaking his head every few seconds or so. His speed was beginning to wane.

Bobby cast a concerned glance his way. "Keep...going...Dean," he gasped.

Dean refused to backtalk as he was concentrating on keeping his feet moving in front of him.

They ran a good while before stopping suddenly and greedily sucking in as much oxygen as they could. Both leaned down on their knees focusing on quenching their thirst for air and waiting for the burn down their throats to subside. Amidst it all, they kept full attention on their surroundings listening intensely, waiting for ol' kitty to catch up.

Looking around, Dean found a somewhat decent sized tree with plenty of low-hanging branches beside him. It must have been oxygen deprivation or something drastic to his health, because an inner desire within him dominated all other reason to avoid climbing the tree. He clasped onto one branch and hoisted himself up.

Bobby stared at him actually believing he had lost his mind. "Boy, what are you doing?"

"What does it look like Bobby? I'm climbing a tree." Dean replied sarcastically climbing higher, "Hurry, you should get in here too."

"Oh hell no. Bobby Singer does not climb trees. This isn't the boy scouts. We should be running, finding shelter or something else," Bobby stammered.

"We can't outrun it Bobby. You've seen how fast it can get. Now quit your yappin' and get on up here," Dean half-shouted, now halfway up the trees truck.

Bobby shook his head, his instincts absolutely refusing to let up to the idea of his old ass climbing. "Uh uh, I don't think so..."

He was cut off by a loud crack.

Dean tensed staring out over the landscape. Squinting his eyes, he could see the faint shadow of something moving, and it was coming fast. "BOBBY. GET DOWN NOW!"

Dean watched the other hunter move quickly behind a huge oak. He stayed still just as the monster finally appeared in the clearing. Anxiety wrapped around his spinal cord and an awful chill swept down his body, fearing for Bobby who was still on the ground. He prayed the man didn't slip up and betray his presence. He didn't think he could make it time to save him.

The creature stopped bringing its nose to the ground and sniffing around for clues like a detective's dog. It wove around in circles edging closer to the tree Dean resided in. Though Dean shouldn't have been surprised at how his luck normally played, he was surprised when the beast raised its head sniffing at the air and it looked straight at him, causing his stomach to backflip.

However, he berated himself for thinking for a split-second that it wouldn't be able to climb up after him, but instead was the opposite, as the cat latched its paws around the base and pulled itself up.

"Oh no way. No way!" he cried panic-stricken also pulling himself up further into the tree, but found it rather hard with his empty gun in his hand. "Why is this always my luck? God damn it!"

The beast purred.

Dean scowled at it incredulously. "Oh you bitch." _It's laughing at me._

The tree shook violently dueling against the combination of Dean's and the monster's weight. It creaked threateningly and was beginning to sway. The creature closed in on him suspending on a brusque branch a few feet below him.

"DEAN GET OUT OF THERE!" Bobby screamed from below. "THE TREE IS ABOUT TO FALL!"

And Dean could believe it, as the tree whined louder and was tilting more. The man's shout alerted the creatures attention down below. He climbed a few more branches away from Dean now keeping its eyes set on Bobby.

"Dammit! No! Right here kitty, right here! Dinner's here!" Dean hollered.

The giant cat made no acknowledgement of his decoy, but trailed to the end of a large branch ready to pounce off it. Dean could feel the tree angle some more, and a terrible ache spread throughout his chest cavity. Any more jostling from either of them and the tree was going to fall. _Crap!_

The cat started to bounce on the branch.

"No, no, no, no, no. Stop that! Hey, this way, this way. Nice white juicy meal right here," Dean clamored desperately trying to get the cat's attention.

It proved ineffective however as the beast leapt off the branch, aiding to the tree's inability to remain upright and it began its descent.

"Oh shhiiiittttt!" Dean screamed wide-eyed as he went with it and he jumped off the branch.

The beast landed on the ground in front of the panicked old man sneering widely. Bobby was about to unload another round of buckshot in it when suddenly the tree landed with an enormous _boom_ on top of the cat. Dean's body landed a few feet away, rolling amongst the turf. Once his body grounded to a halt, he remained where he was winded, hardly able to move due to the fiery pang spreading throughout his body.

Bobby ran over to him deeply concerned when the boy hadn't moved. Placing a hand on his shoulder and rolling him over, he asked, "Dean, you alright?"

Dean could only answer by groaning.

"Dean. Dean, look at me," he latched his big hands around Dean's grimy face. "Are you alright?"

Dean coughed, "Timber."

Bobby huffed. "You asshole."

"Can we go now?" Dean asked childishly.

"'Fraid not son."

"What? Why?" Dean gasped. "Isn't it dead?"

"No," Bobby answered sullenly looking back at the fiend caught underneath the tree, growling and spitting, trying every few minutes to lift itself, but the tree's weight kept it pinned to the ground.

Shocked, Dean rolled over on his not so sore side and took a good look at it. It snarled at him, a nasty glint shining in its yellow eyes. "Jesus kitty. Shotgun...grenade...tree...another tree. Just die already!" he cried out frustrated.

"Come on, we gotta get out of here," Bobby said pulling Dean to his feet. "We need more time to come up with a better plan."

Dean hunched over from the ache in his chest and the searing pain in his back. The sounds of the monster behind them echoed through the clearing and they started off at a jog, wanting to be as far away from it as possible. Dusk had fallen and the remaining vestiges of daylight had receded, and it became impossibly hard to see at least ten feet in front of them.

"Come on Dean, we need to find someplace to hide ...and not in a tree."

"No argument there," Dean mumbled. Suddenly they both jerked when they heard the monster's wail in the background.

"Now that just makes me feel much better," Dean growled, straining to keep his eyes open.

Sleep beckoned him and he wanted to just curl up on the ground and die. The pain from the scratches flared every few seconds and nasty bouts of vertigo would increase in intervals. He grabbed a hold of his chest as a sharp pain shot through it. The echo of the monster's roar sounded again, much closer.

"Jeez, no matter what we do, it won't stop following us. It really likes you," Bobby mentioned adjusting the bags on his shoulder.

Dean paused in his tracks pondering what the old man just said to him. "You're right Bobby, it does like to follow me, but how..." he stopped when he felt the warm trickle of liquid slither down his back, and then the answer popped in his head, "Bobby that's it. Blood. It can smell the blood"-he groped his arm- "that's how it found me in the tree."

Immediately Bobby set the bags down and unzipped his book bag. "Then we need to get those covered up now!"

Dean shook his head. "That's not going to do anything. It would still smell it through the bandages."

"Then what are we going to do?"

Dean bit his lip eying the ground, waiting for the muse of inspiration to grace him. But instead of the beautiful woman giving him useful advice, she gave him the image of Sam lying bloody on the ground in the woods, which confused him even more.

"I don't get it. Sam was covered in blood when we found him. And if this thing can track it, then he should be mince meat by now," he told himself. "Then how..." he asked out loud cutting off when a memory of him and his brother were young popped in his head.

"_Come on Dean. It'll be fun!" Sammy pleaded kneading the ground, and patting mud cakes on his bare arms_

"_Sammy, you realize how much Dad is gonna be mad at us if we do?" Dean protested standing back._

"_Yeah," the child piped enthusiastically gaping at him with his big eyes._

"_What is it with you?"_

"_Come on, it's just a bit of mud. You said yourself that we have to be_ manly,"_ Sammy reasoned now plopping on his stomach and coating his blue shirt in darkened smudges._

"_Yeah, but I didn't mean this," Dean scowled._

"_Okay," Sammy squeaked and tossed a big mudpie at him._

_Dean jumped back when the pile splattered all over his chest. "Sam!"_

_Little Sammy just giggled forming another pile of mush between his fingers. _

"_Oh you're going down," Dean lunged and completed a belly flop in the crater mud puddle, splashing his sibling, who shrieked with frivolity. Then both began to frolic in the mud pit. _

"_Come on Dean, let's crawl to the lake!"_

"_We're gonna get in so much trouble."_

"_Isn't it great?" his brother squealed crawling ahead of him._

The memory ended and then it became clear: the image of Sam lying against the log and then the recurring memory of him taking off a mud chuck off his face. Dirt. Mud.

"Bobby that's it!" Dean exclaimed, delighted at his epiphany. "Sam was covered in mud when we found him. That's why friggin' Mufasa back there couldn't find him. The mud hid his scent."

The older hunter's eyes widened. "Damn Dean, I think you're right, but where are we going to find some mud around here?"

Dean let out an exasperated sigh looking around searching the area for any type of soft dirt. He turned to the right and out of the corner of his eye found it.

Smirking, he replied, "Well, what d'ya know?"

Both walked over to a decent sized puddle that could've competed for being mistaken as a small pond and admired it distastefully. "Alright, get on in," Dean suggested plopping into the gunk and wallowing around in it.

"But why do I gotta get in?"

"Because we don't know for sure if it only tracks blood," Dean reasoned patting piles of the malodorous slop on his bloody arm.

"Ooohh," Bobby seethed. "You're getting' me a new pair of boots boy!"

"Fine."

After making sure not an inch of skin was spared, they pulled themselves out of the muck and wambled forward into the night, favoring their aches and pains, hoping against hope to find some form of shelter; and praying their tactic did the trick to keep the beast off their backs awhile. There was no way they were going to be able to find their way back to the car, despite how much they yearned for it. So the best thing was to keep going straight and praying they found some type of hole or open tree trunk or something. Hell, even a den of some kind would be great!

Dean didn't know if he was just sore and tired, but he found that it was increasingly hard to put his feet in front of one another, and the constant dizzy bouts were really starting to piss him off. He didn't need this now. Again, he grabbed at his chest when another spike of pain shot through it. He gasped squeezing his eyes shut.

Bobby stole another glance his way. "You alright?"

Dean shook his head, wiping the sweat off his brow. "I don't feel good. My chest hurts."

Bobby continued to keep a suspicious glare on him. He placed an arm around his shoulders to help support him and was surprised the boy didn't protest. Even though there was hardly any light, Bobby grew increasingly worried when he saw how pale Dean was.

"Come on, we need to find somewhere quick," he guided him forward while Dean kindly allowed him with his chin resting on his chest. At that moment, miraculously, a small cave came into view, hidden unobtrusively along a rock cavern's wall; and if Bobby's flashlight hadn't spotted it, they would have surely passed it.

"Here Dean, we don't have a choice," said Bobby steering the hunter towards the darkened pit.

Once inside, Bobby let go of the Winchester and peered all around the inside, looking for any other possible guests. The small cave was damp and moss bordered the rim of the opening, but other than being impressively dark, it would have to accommodate. "Hmmm, it looks like it goes really deep," Bobby acknowledged shining the light towards the back.

After Bobby lifted his supportive hand, Dean fell back against the cavern's wall, breathing deeply. Bright spots danced in his eyes and a serious bout of nausea slammed into him like a wrecking ball. Without meaning to, his body slid down the rugged wall as it lacked the energy of keeping himself upright, and he whipped his head to the side and vomited.

Bobby caught his movement and turned around swiftly. "Dean?" he called out concerned.

"Bobby, I really don't feel so good." Dean mumbled wiping away the stickiness and curling into himself, slumping over on his side.

Bobby instantly raced to his side and saw the sweat the pooled off the boy's face, immediately becoming frightened when Dean's eyes drooped .

"No Dean, stay awake!" He grasped his face and shook it desperately, backing off when the hunter forced his eyes open. Then suddenly Dean's entire body began to shake.

"W-why am I s-shaking B-bobby?" he rasped.

"I don't know. Just stay put and keep your eyes open." Bobby ordered leaping up and scrambling to his backpack, throwing open the compartment and tossing out the many items. "Please say I put it in here! please say I got it!" He cried still searching within the bag. "Keep your eyes open boy!"

Dean fought hard against the weights that seem to push down on his eyes. He felt incredibly tired and the pain flaring in his chest increased dramatically. "Sorry Bobby," he muttered unable to keep up the good fight and let his eyes close.


	21. Chapter 21

The air seemed different. It usually was crisp and clean, cool and easy to breathe through. Instead, it was musty, thick, and hot, and if he didn't have a pair of lungs built like an oxygen tank, odds are he'd have suffocated by now: it was so stifling. The lungs in the hunter's current frail body worked overtime in supplying the stale air molecules to the rest of his body. His immune system brought on the reserves in working with the provided antibiotics in battling the foreign bacteria that had overridden his system.

A heavy set fog cascaded over the boundaries of his mind and it felt like his head was a buoy floating on top of a sea of nausea and pain. As consciousness became more palpable, he became more aware of the ickiness that the combination of the sweat and mud that coated his frame induced, not to mention it itched like _crazy._ His eyes felt like weights securing them in place.

Sooner or later the combination of all those things played mind-grueling games with his psyche and Dean felt like he had no choice but to open his eyes. He slid them open lazily and found he was still lying on his side with a soft piece of fabric planted beneath his head as a make-shift pillow. A sheen of perspiration continually beaded off his brow and neck, and judging by the headache that brewed, he knew he had a fever. Hardly a single inch of his body didn't ache and the pounding in his ears grew louder the more aware he became from his over-taxing heartbeat.

He let out an anguished groan when a spike of pain drove through his chest cavity.

"Shhh, just take a deep breath," he heard a fatherly voice only he recognized as Bobby's say. He felt a calloused hand drape over his forehead.

"Bobby?"

"Yeah, it's me Dean. Just relax, you're sick," the old man told him calmly. He was sitting next to him with his back propped against the cave wall.

"What happened?" Dean queried, his voice at a low whisper.

"You got real sick. It might've been from the scratches the thing gave ya," he answered opening up his knapsack and pulling out a syringe. He went to the boy's side and pulled out his arm.

"Bobby, wha cha' doing?" Dean slurred attempting to roll away from the man's vice-like grip and yelped when he plunged the needle into the crook of his elbow, "Ow! Get off old man!"

"It's for your own good!" Bobby enforced sliding the needle out and tossing it over to the opposite side of the cave.

"The hell it is," Dean grumbled. "What ya stick me for?"

"Just another round of antibiotics."

"Huh?"

"I'm pretty sure that you got whatever Sam had. And I'm also pretty sure the doctors said the bacteria strain they found in Sam's heart might've come from the cat's claws. So...does your chest still hurt?"

Another groan escaped Dean's lips along with the nod of his head, as he curled more into himself as he began to feel the antibiotics effect on the rest of his system.

"Yep, I'm positive that was it. Luckily I also packed some of the antibiotic serum they used for Sam. Good thing I asked about it too!"

Dean snorted. "You weren't kidding when you said you pulled out all of the stops. Good thing you're here Bobby. I never would have thought of that," Dean said weakly, burrowing into his make-shift pillow which he realized was his jacket. "What time is it?"

"Uh, almost eleven o' clock in the morning. Can you move?"

Dean breathed in deeply while shaking his head. His body wasn't going to comply to his demands anytime soon. "Only unless I have to."

"Alright."

"Hey Bobby, if this is the same fricken' bacteria, how come it so worked so fast on me and not Sam? It took days for it to hit Sam."

"That's because Sam had hypothermia, remember? His body temperature slowed it down. For you, with all that running...and climbing, it worked a whole lot faster. You're just damn lucky I brought those antibiotics." A beep sounded from Bobby's cell phone and he glanced down at it, and saw that he had another text message.

Dean continued to stay on his side, as the scratches on his back were still sore. He coughed when he began to choke on the thick foul-smelling stench that resided within the cave. "Ugh," he moaned. "Smells like dog shit in here."

"Nope, not dog," Bobby mumbled scrolling through the contents on the phone.

Dean's eyes widened at the implication and he glanced up at the old man incredulously. "Ewww, Bobby. That's just gross!"

Bobby slowly turned his head toward him with a scorned expression. "I meant the cat. I think this used to be it's cave for awhile."

_"Oh...WHAT?"_ Dean screeched jolting up, his delayed reaction much more cataclysmic in his feverish state. "Why the hell are we still here?" he shrieked, losing his breath, and falling back against the wall breathless.

Concerned, Bobby rushed forward and placed an arm against his chest impeding him from going any further. "Cool it Dean," he commanded. "We're not going anywhere for the time being. It hasn't come back yet, nor have I heard it in awhile. But you're still sick and no way in Hell are capable of fighting a monster right now. So chill. We can't do anything about it right now, but we will once you feel better, alright?"

Still sucking in huge quantities of air, Dean gaped at his mentor contemptuously, wanting to resist his hold, but yet unable to. Reluctantly, he nodded in affirmation just to appease him. Plus sitting up so suddenly brought on another case of vertigo, and he couldn't move. Bobby released his hold and went back to his bag, pulling out a water bottle and handing it to Dean. "Here, drink up."

Dean shook his head tentatively wondering if he could manage it with his throat being incredibly raw.

But that wasn't good enough for Bobby Singer. "I don't think so buddy-boy. Drink this now. You're dehydrated, and I'll be damned if you're going to keel over on me now," he enforced.

Reluctantly, Dean took the bottle with a shaky hand and pressed it to his lips. He squeezed his eyes shut concentrating on forcing the lukewarm water down his achy throat. _Man, this sucks out loud! _More beeping from Bobby's cell phone caught his attention. Tiredly, he looked over and saw the old man punching in the buttons furiously. _Bobby knows how to text, now I know the apocalypse is here!_

"That thing works?" Dean questioned.

"Only the text for some reason. I tried the other part, but there was no signal. I even tried the satellite phone, but it was still no use."

"I'm surprised you didn't text for help."

Bobby glanced up and sighed, indicating that he had pondered it and came to a very hard decision. "Yeah, well if you had gotten any worse I would have. Besides, I knew you'd be pissed as Hell and I don't feel like dealing with that. Also hospitals don't answer text messages and I didn't want to bring anyone else out here and chance getting killed with that thing still on the loose."

"Good thinking. Then...who're you texting?"

"A friend of mine. Been asking him questions about our dear little kitty, trying to find out what the hell it is."

"Oh," Dean replied slumping down further against the wall, his eyes drooping as the call of sleep beckoned him once more.

"Ah ha!"

Bobby's exclamation jerked Dean out of his haze of near oblivion and he peered at the man curiously. "Wha...what is it?" he questioned breathlessly.

Bobby gazed at him excitably, his soft blue eyes shining brighter underneath the mud flakes crusting across his face. "We're dealing with an _Alphyn."_

"Oh no," Dean frowned. "What the hell is that?"

"According to Jefferson's notes, it's a creature from English lore. He says it was the best that fit our description: lion-like, huge, scales on its legs, everything except for a thin tongue." He glanced back at his phone, typing in another message.

"Jeff says that they were used as symbols for English heraldry, especially back in the crusades. He also says there's not much information on them except almost every lore says it's supposed to be extinct."

"Guess they missed one," Dean mumbled.

"Yep, and also..." he continued to read from the phone, "they can hibernate for years at a time, but it doesn't say for how long though."

"Hibernate? No wonder Alphie was hungry!" Dean remarked taking another swig of the water. He turned to Bobby who appeared to be deep in thought.

"Hibernate. Wait..." he made another grab for his bag and pulled out a batch of crumbled papers and started ruffling through them. He paused after sorting through half of the pile and pulled one out. "Hymph, I betcha that's what woke it up."

"What?"

"Here," he passed Dean the paper. Dean grabbed it and saw that it was part of the article they read first alerting their attention to the attacks the creature made before they set out to find Sam. He didn't know what he was looking for.

"Bottom left hand corner."

Dean followed suit and found a tiny protest ad at the bottom of the page about the use of dynamite in caves and the dangers of mountaintop removal. He looked up at Bobby coming to the same conclusion. "If they used dynamite around here and it was sleeping in a cave, then yeah," he passed the paper back, "Does he say how to kill it?"

"No, like I said, there's not much information," Bobby answered replacing the paper back within its stack and scrunching them in the bag.

"Great, that means we gotta get creative," he let out a massive sough. "Well I hope you got something in that Einstein brain of yours."

"Why?"

"Because if I recollect, you tried pumping two rounds of lead into it at pointblank range and they bounced off like they were rubber," he stammered panting heavily.

"Don't kill yourself Dean. We'll think of something." Bobby answered him calmly. "But not until you get some more rest, okay?"

"Yes sir Bob," Dean retorted before closing his eyes and drifting into a much awaited state of repose.

* * *

The mid-afternoon beams of sunlight streamed through the blinds and basked the room in a certain graceful warmth. The striated beams hit the youngest Winchester's pale cheeks and enveloped them in a bright glow, aiding in his current recovery. The machines beeped, along with the repetitive _whoosh_ of the oxygen tank.

The nurse seated beside the young man's bedside never forced her watchful eye away.

Caylee had kept vigil over Sam as promised, and even though his family had been gone for about two days almost, she never left. The twinkle in her eye shone brighter the more she watched him. He appeared so angelic in his drug-induced sleep: calm and innocent; but yet she couldn't understand why her fellow comrades deemed him dangerous. Though she regretted her earlier actions, however, for someone in her stead, precaution was necessary.

She sensed the pain he struggled with and was glad that now it had passed. She leaned forward and began running her fingers through the fine strands of his hair. Softly she whispered in his ear, "It's okay. Pain is not forever. Rest, for you have nothing to fear. It should be gone." Immediately the tension she felt beneath her palm soothed out. She smiled relaxing in her chair.

Approaching footsteps echoed from within the hallway alerted her attention to the door. She looked up to see Dr. Colbertson, the man who prevented Dr. Stevens from calling the blood bank, enter the room seemingly frazzled, accidentally tripping over and scattering the salt line. "This is ridiculous," he grumbled under his breath when he felt the crunch of the granular particles beneath his feet.

"May I help you Dr. Colbertson?" asked Caylee.

"I'm looking for Mike. Have you seen him?"

Caylee shook her head. "He's resting."

The doctor huffed. "I need to find him now. It's something to do with this patient."

Caylee stood from her chair. "Well, I'm this patient's attending nurse. I'm sure any problems you have, you can take it up with me."

"Where's this patient's family?" he asked forcefully.

"They're out. They said they had to take care of an important matter and that they should be back soon," she answered coolly.

The doctor cast her a suspicious eye. "Shouldn't you be attending to other patients?"

Caylee returned the same look, "It's been taken care of sir. Why are you so concerned?"

"It doesn't matter nurse. Part of your job description is to keep working. You are getting paid to look after others, not just one," he snarled.

Caylee stood her ground and smirked. "With all due respect sir," her voice descending to a low growl, "another part of that job description is to look out for the best interests of patients and I guarantee you that the best interest for this patient is for someone, trusted by the family members, to stay by his side at all times. Now what is this all about?"

The doctor eyed her seethingly before reluctantly answering, "I just received a message from the Board and they said they reviewed his case and felt that this procedure was unnecessary," he sighed, "and they weren't very happy about it, so now the order is to wake him up."

"What!" Caylee exclaimed. "How can they say that? He was in terrible pain. Dr. Stevens tried everything, and this was the last resort!"

"You think I don't know that," he spat. "I don't know why they came to this decision. Maybe the report wasn't very thorough, I don't know. Either that or they're high off their rockers. But I tried explaining it to them and their decision remains the same. I have to find Mike now."

"Dr. Colbertson," Caylee protested, grasping Sam's limp hand. "We can't wake him up yet, not until his family gets back..."

The doctor raised his hand. "I'm sorry, but..."

"No, you don't understand," she interrupted. "This patient will be far worse off if he were to wake up and his brother's not here..."

"Then you do what you have to do to get them here. I'm finding Mike now," Dr. Colbertson enforced stepping out the door and leaving the nurse in shock.

* * *

The air was much different. It was already hot and heavy, and now it seemed to have condensed, adding with the smell of decayed flesh. The putrid stench brushed up against his skin every few seconds. To say it was gross would have been a major understatement. He was tired of this. Just for once couldn't things be a little easier on this hunt?

Dean's body still ached and he was still hot. When the headache he had began to escalate due to the scarcity of fresh air, he made a decision. It was time to move on, sick or no; this was getting ridiculous. Content with that notion, he opened his eyes...and then wished he never had.

The Alphyn was standing directly overtop of him, its large snout full of razor sharp teeth was in his face, breathing in his scent. Dean's body went rigid and he dared to move, let alone breathe. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bobby sitting up with his head resting on his shoulder, asleep. It was obvious he hadn't picked up on the cat coming home.

The creature sniffed and blew out its hot breath in Dean's face. He tried really hard to keep a straight face and not grimace from the grotesque puffs of air -though he probably would have preferred it if he passed out from it. He could see the faint outlines of its tail swishing back and forth, and he wondered what it was doing. It took a step forward, placing its paw in between his splayed out legs, lowering its head. Dean gulped.

But then the creature backed off cocking its head to the side. It looked over to the outside where Dean saw it was nearing twilight. _How long have we slept?_ The Alphyn stuck its nose in the air and stepped away ambling towards the back of the cave, sniffing the ground. Dean took that time to wake Bobby. He snaked a hand out slowly, gently prodding the old man in his bicep.

Bobby gave a small snort, which Dean backed off alarmed, watching the monster eagerly to see if it had heard it. When it made no inclination of hearing the tiny noise, Dean let out a silent sigh, poking Bobby once more.

Startled at the sudden ounce of pain, Bobby woke up with a jolt, and Dean immediately had to cover his mouth. Confused, Bobby eyed him intensely wondering what the hell was going on, to which Dean silently placed a finger to his mouth and pointed in the cat's direction. Bobby's expression widened when he saw it, gently taking Dean's grimy hand away from his mouth, and slowly reaching for the duffel. He grabbed a hold of the zipper and tugged.

The Alphyn jerked up its head upon hearing the small noise the zipper created. Bobby froze, staring at it, watching its every move, ready to bolt if need be. But they needed their weapons.

He breathed easy when the thing brought its head back down and began pawing the ground. He pulled on the zipper again, keeping the tips of his fingers close to the metallic slider, and tugged slowly until it was wide and open.

Dean kept his eyes trained on the animal, watching Bobby peripherally. He didn't know what Bobby was reaching in for, but at this point any weapon would do. Secretly, he really wanted his shotgun.

What is it with Lady Luck and her likeliness for putting them into situations where plans go awry and desperate half-cocked decisions had to be made?

At that moment, luck decided to turn when Bobby's cell sounded off a symphony of beeps in recognition that the battery was dying. The creature's head shot up and was by their side so fast, they hardly blinked. However, the spiffy fairy was kind to them in that the mud kept their scent, and the creature was still blinded to their presence, apparently unable to see in the shadows. It knelt its head by Bobby's pants-leg where the phone continually beeped.

Dean felt sorry for the old man as he kept deadly still. If it had been him, he surely would have pissed his pants. The alphyn began pawing at Bobby's leg, curious about the device beeping inside his pocket. Bobby gritted his teeth remaining in his stance leaning over with his hand still in the duffel, keeping his eyes off the monster, because if he had, he knew he would keel over from a heart attack right then and there. The more the monster pawed, the more the damn phone beeped, and the more Bobby's blood pressure skyrocketed.

Dean knew he had to do something. He couldn't leave Bobby to fend for his own, not while he was sitting right beside him. The old man would kick his ass to Timbucktu and then string him up and laugh about it if he did that; that is to say if they came out of it alive, of course! He really wasn't in the mood for that. Slowly Dean moved his hand out, brushing against some of the loose rocks beside the wall, scooping them up. Taking a deep breath, he tossed them, but due to his attempt for limited movement, they only tumbled a few inches past his soles.

The decoy worked. The creature turned his way peering down at the loose rubble, which gave Bobby the opportunity in pulling out a large canister of mustard gas. Unhooking the top, he chucked it to the back of the cave, where the yellow contents began spewing out. It peaked the dog-like cat's interest and it took off towards it like a dog playing fetch. Bobby and Dean took that time to jump up. Bobby grabbed two more grenades out of the bag and handed one to Dean. Together they deployed the instruments of destruction, tossing them back at the cat, and high-tailed it out of the cave.

A loud explosion chorused through the scenery, and the two hunters were blown off their feet, their bodies skidding through the dirt. After they came to a complete stop, they rolled over and saw that the blast had caved in the opening, the walls collapsing to create an enormous pile of rubble.

A smirk stretched over Dean's taut face when he heard the cat whine from inside. "That'll teach ya, ya son of a bitch!" He gave Bobby an auspicious look, who returned the same expression, and slowly they climbed to their feet.

Dean bent down opening up the duffel to retrieve his sawed-off shotgun. He felt much safer with it in his grasp. The alphyn cried much louder from within the cave.

"Yeah, keep crying!" Dean yelled standing back up.

Now as a hunter, mostly he's prepared to expect a lot of things ...but when the alphyn suddenly burst through the wall of rubble, that was the last thing Dean or Bobby expected.

The creature landed and began shaking its fur again as wisps of yellow vapor streamed off it.

Bobby made a gasp digging into the bag again, causing the thing to spin around, revealing it's pupils to be blown twice their size due to the chemical's effect. It sneered furiously, and it lunged towards the two hunters. Bobby let off a shot, but was instantly knocked to the side when it's body clipped his shoulder.

Dean backed up frightened as the creature made a straight beeline for him. His foot snagged on an ascending root and he promptly fell backwards when the beast leapt into the air. He extended his arms up just in time for its jaws to clamp over the steel portion of his shotgun. The alphyn's entire body shadowed him. It snarled angrily dousing him with globs of drool, pressing down further, gnawing on the gun. Dean let out a terrified yell staring wide-eyed into the monster's savage eyes. He prayed for some kind of hope or help: his arms were tiring out quick.

The creature clamped its teeth around the gun and shook it from side to side, aiming to pull it out of Dean's grasp. Dean struggled and struggled, trying to keep a good grip around the weapon, but it was no use as the creature lifted its head, wrenching it from his grasp, and tossed the gun away. It reared its head back opening its jaws wide, ready to make the final kill. It brought it down swiftly and onto the butt end of a shotgun.

"Oops," Dean remarked, giving it his all-time death stare, and pulled the trigger.

A final shriek emanated from the beast as brain and bone matter exploded from the top of it's skull. It's eyes rolled to the back of his head and it toppled over on its side, dead.

Dean let out a harsh breath, pulling the shotgun out of the thing's mouth, and cradled it to his chest. After a second of regaining his composure, he turned his head and saw Bobby lying on his stomach right beside him with his hand extended out, where he gave him the gun not a second ago. He could see the man with his head buried into the crook of his arm, shaking, either from relieved laughter or tears.

"What?" Dean gasped.

Bobby lifted his head, "I'm going on a vacation after this."

Dean chuckled, "I hear ya!" He stood up, still cradling the gun, grimacing at the chunks of brain matter covering a portion of his jacket. Walking over to the beast, he glowered at it seethingly and kicked in the carcass's midriff. "That was for my brother, bitch!" He kicked it again. "And that was for my jacket."

Bobby gave him a weird look, before asking, "You wouldn't think their would be another..."

"Don't even say it," Dean cut him off limping forward. "Let's get back to Sam now."

"Yeah, you're right, and let's get you checked out too," Bobby agreed following him.

"Ah man," Dean complained. "I just want to sleep. That cot is sounding really good right now."

"I don't think so, I call it first," Bobby argued.

"What! Nah uh, I'm injured here."

"So! Whoever gets there first?" Bobby challenged.

"Oh bring it on, old man," Dean accepted picking up the stride in his step.


	22. Chapter 22

By the time the two hunters returned to the hospital, the sky was as dark as a demon's eyes; and the moon hung up high serving as a beacon providing the area with as little light as it could muster. As soon as the car came to a halt, the two men emerged from the Impala stiff and beaten from their recent hunt. Unconsciously, Dean picked up the duffel of weapons from the backseat, and went back to the trunk to gather a new pair of garments. No way was he keeping these clothes on. They smelt like an animal had died in them (which wasn't so far from the truth). Plus the image of waltzing in a sterile hospital drenched in mud wasn't exactly ideal. Along with his mentor, together they strode towards the entrance with slight hops in their steps. The desire for a hot shower and a bed was never so appealing before.

The front lobby was bustling with activity with scores of patients in waiting and nurses and doctors running about trying to attend to the many. To their right, they saw Caylee at the front desk with a phone in her hand rapidly punching in numbers. She turned her head and the phone dropped from her hand once she spotted them. Their smiles quickly faltered and their longing thoughts rapidly dissipated when the nurse bounded after them with a desperate look on her face.

"Dean, Oh my...Just in time!" She hollered running up, grasping his arm and tugging it, not even bothering to ask about their appearance.

Sensing that it was something serious, both ran along with the nurse to the stairwell.

"Caylee, what's going on?" Dean asked running up beside her.

"They're waking Sam up," she answered leaping over the steps two at a time. Dean found he had a hard time in keeping up with her.

"What! Why?"

"I don't know. The committee ordered it. They said they reviewed his case and didn't like the decision that was made. We've tried stalling it as long as possible, but it might already be too late," she stammered.

"Why didn't you call us?" Bobby asked gruffly from below.

"I tried! Several times, but it kept saying you were out of service. Next time, bring better cell phones," she snapped angrily continuing her stride.

Bobby merely shrugged off the woman's outburst as he was solely concentrating on keeping up with the other two. Dean didn't bother to argue as now his main concern was getting to Sammy before he woke up. And he prayed to whoever was listening, he wasn't already too late. Another wave of dizziness passed over him and his mouth rubbed raw from dehydration. He swallowed as best he could, concentrating on keeping up with the nurse. _How many freakin' steps can there be?_

Finally the fourth floor entrance came into view. All three flew through the door and at a sprint ran down the hallway towards Sam's room, heedless of the various onlookers' glares. Dean and Bobby both let out a long sigh of relief when they rounded the corner and saw the room. Immediately, they picked up their heels passing the nurse and barged through the door. It couldn't have been any sooner when they burst through when they heard the small whisper "_Dean_".

Panic shot through Dean's chest as he believed he was too late and he froze. His world began to spin as thousands of scenarios of Sam hating his guts once more cast down upon him. _Oh no!_

There were plenty of people in the room and everyone had their alarmed/angry gaze set upon them. Dr. Stevens expelled out a relieved sigh, taking out the syringe from the port. "Just in time, he woke up just a second ago."

The spinning stopped. "What?" Dean mumbled, uncertain if he heard correctly.

"You made great timing," the doctor replied happily.

Dean couldn't believe it and had no sooner raced up to the bed to find his brother's eyes still closed.

"Dean," Sam whispered, the tips of his lids fluttering.

"I'm here kid," he answered loudly.

Sam's lips curled as he finally opened his eyes. He swiveled his eyes around a bit waiting for the blurriness to subside. Soon his brother and Bobby came into view, and he smiled some more, comforted to see their faces.

Dr. Stevens came forward taking out his penlight. "Hey there Sam. Good to see you awake again. Can you look this way for me please?"

Sam obeyed by turning his head towards the doctor and allowing him to shine the light in his eyes. After scanning his eyes a couple times, Dr. Stevens pocketed his light. "Okay Sam, now I want you to do something for me okay? I want you to recite the alphabet."

"What?" Sam slurred grudgingly.

"Just get it done and over with."

"Alright," Sam agreed reluctantly and tiredly recited it.

It must've meant something good as the doctor nodded his head and backed off. "Okay, everything seems good. I'll just take my leave then, and have you guys catch up." He spoke motioning for the other nurses, except Caylee, and Dr. Colbertson to leave, who all eyed the two hunters' apparel appallingly as if they bore the plague.

"How're you feeling?" asked Dean.

"I'm good. The pain's gone," Sam rasped with a hint of relief, his eyes drooping some.

"Sweet!" Dean breathed feeling the deep depression in his gut fill up. He noticed Sam snuggling to his side ready to close his eyes again. "That's it Sammy, just get some more rest, and we'll be here," he encouraged squeezing his hand.

Sam was ready to oblige when suddenly he caught a musty scent. His eyes shot open and for the first time he noticed his brother's and Bobby's grungy guises. Unsurprised, he huffed, "You went after Fluffy, didn't you?"

"Uh," Dean began tentatively. All eyes were on him and he felt slightly awkward, "Yeah Sammy, we did."

"Figured," Sam grumbled, "So...did ya get it?"

"Yep! Fugly's dead." Dean nodded smugly. "Sucker put up a good of a fight though, but he didn't stand a chance."

"I can see that. Told ya it was big," Sam chuckled.

"No kidding! After that, we hauled ass."

"You boys got back right in time too," said Caylee. "I didn't know how much longer we could hold out."

"When was the order called?" Bobby asked.

"Early this afternoon."

Dean's eyes widened. "How were you able to hold it off?"

Caylee gave a triumphant smile, "I locked the door."

Both the hunter's looked confused. She shrugged, "I told you Dean, I knew the janitor. That and Dr. Stevens became a little...let's just say directionally challenged for most part of the day."

Dean huffed in disbelief. "Wow, thanks. I can't tell you how much I appreciate it."

"Don't mention it," she replied, "Alright boys. Time for Sam to rest...and time for you guys to shower up. Cuz Dean...phew," she shook her head swiping at the air.

"That bad?"

"You don't wanna know. Mr. Singer, you can use the one up here if you like. Come on Dean," she pulled on the man's arm guiding him towards the door. "Afterwards Mister, you're heading down to the ER for a checkup and some stitches."

"How'd you know I was hurt?" Dean quirked an eyebrow.

"Please, I can smell the blood from across the room, and you are showing every sign there is for a fever. So come on," she pushed him out the door.

Bobby had finished with his shower in a short amount of time. After dressing quickly, he informed Sam he was going to get a cup of coffee and get a few more things from the car and should be back soon.

After having to help Dean out of his clothes due to the gashes across his back and shoulder, Caylee waited patiently outside the men's shower for him to finish (for what seemed like an hour). After making sure the young man made his way towards the ER and was attended to, she came back up to Sam's room with a tray full of icky hospital food. Using her elbow to turn the handle, she came in to find Sam attempting to get out of bed, the blankets unfurled and his legs hanging over the bedspread.

"Sam, what do you think you're doing?"

Not hearing her come in, Sam perked up alarmed. "Damn. So close," he mumbled disappointedly.

"You need to be resting," she told him coming up to his bed side and placing the tray down on the bedstand. She placed a hand on his tense shoulder, and said softly, "Come on."

Sam obliged by sluggishly pulling his legs back up on the bed, as Caylee brought the blankets over.

"Sorry. I just feel so cooped up in this bed. I'm just ready to get out of here."

"Really?" the nurse questioned, "You just woke up half an hour ago...from a coma."

"Yeah," Sam replied innocently, "And I feel great."

Caylee gave him a suspicious look, "Is that you or the morphine talking?"

Sam peered up at her with his puppy-dog eyes and gave her a lop-sided grin, "Probably the morphine."

Caylee chuckled, "Alright then. Don't worry, you'll be out of here soon enough once you recover fully. You hungry?" she pointed to the tray.

Sam eyed the tasteless potatoes and meshed corn with disgust. And even though his stomach rumbled every few seconds and his mouth watered, he squeaked, "No, not really", not ready to admit to himself that he slightly craved the food.

"Is that so?" Caylee took a seat beside him, pushing the tray stand in front of him. "Well, guess what? You're eating it anyway. If you want to get out of here, you have to eat at least half the tray."

Sam grimaced, "'Kay." He lifted his right hand; it shook tremendously from the woes of atrophy as he reached for the spoon.

"Your shoulder's still weak," Caylee acknowledged reaching forward. "Here, let me help you."

"It's okay, I think I got it," Sam immediately responded, his independent stride desperately not wanting the nurse to spoon feed him. He squeezed the utensil harder and took a spoonful of the corn. Concentrating, he aimed for his mouth and zoomed his hand across the short distance...and missed. Some of the corn mesh fell off the side of the spoon and splattered on his gown before he stuffed the spoon in his mouth. "Oops," he said after swallowing the contents he managed to score, "I guess I can work on it."

Caylee smiled grabbing a cloth from the bedside table and began to wipe off the sticky matter. "Here."

"You don't have to do that."

"It's no problem."

"Thank you," he said genuinely.

She smiled again at him, "Alright? You want me to take over now."

"Let me try again," Sam said with a determined look. Staring intensely at the spoon in his hand, he dug into the food again. His stared intensified as he brought the spoon closer to his mouth. Taking a deep breath, he shoved the spoon in his mouth. He let out a breath of relief as he accomplished his task. "See?" he gleamed still with the spoon in his mouth.

"Okay hotshot," Caylee remarked taking the spoon out and replacing it on the tray. Then she began shaking her head disbelievingly, her gaze hardening.

Sam felt awkward noticing her gaze. "Was it that bad?" he asked shyly.

"Huh?" she looked up and seeing Sam's imploring gaze, "Oh no. It's not that. You're just different than how I imagined you'd be."

Sam's eyebrows furrowed.

"It's...you're not at all like what the others say about you," she said.

Sam's confusion deepened, "Who?"

"Uh, the other nurses and doctors," she answered somewhat awkwardly, "Sometimes they can be a bit judgmental."

"Oh," Sam appeared downtrodden, "Have I been talking in my sleep?"

Caylee snorted, "No."

"Well I hope I don't appear mean. If I've done anything wrong, can you tell them I'm sorry?" Sam asked using his wounded puppy-dog look.

"There's no need," Caylee smirked.

At that moment, Dean decided to ruin the moment by bursting through the door hollering, "Twenty-seven stitches! That God damn cat!"

"Dean!" Caylee warned.

"Sorry, but you would be cursing too if some big hermaphroditic oaf down there was poking, prodding, and sticking you, and kept missing!" he exclaimed.

"You mean Helga?"

"I don't care! I swear that woman is the devil incarnate. She even looks at you and you're dead," Dean blundered, then he went off on a tirade, which sounded like gibberish to the other two. They watched in awe as he continued to complain about the lack of gentleness and conspiratory nurses while pacing back and forth.

"Uh oh Caylee. They gave him drugs. He gets a little anxious, somewhat erratic when he's on something. I think you better get out of the way...cuz you're actually in the line of fire," Sam joked.

"What about you? You can't move. I'm not leaving a man behind," she played along.

"Don't worry about me. I can take care of myself!"

They glanced at each other for a long moment before bursting out into a session of giggles.

Dean stopped and turned to them displeased, "What are you guys laughing at?"

"Oh nothing!"

"I don't think so," Dean forced glowering at the two of them, "What is it?"

"Nothing at all Dean," Sam replied through his giggle fit.

"Come on," Dean stomped his foot.

"You," Caylee confessed.

Dean cocked his head to the side donning a macho grin, "What? About my manliness and stunning charm."

"Nope!"

"Well what then?"

Caylee smiled mischievously, "Your eagerness for motherhood."

Dean's smile fell. _Oh woman, you wouldn't dare_, he thought glaring at her. "That's so not funny!" he remarked causing Caylee and Sam to burst into another fit of giddiness.

* * *

The outside air was brisk and chilly. Bobby shivered a bit as he stuffed the bag of his muddy clothes into a rucksack. He closed the clasp and tossed it to the other side of the backseat, before going to the back of the trunk. Opening it, he started going through the various weapons in the hidden compartment, taking note on what he would prefer to bring in and what was not necessary.

The sound of scurried footsteps sounded behind him. He knew he should have seen it coming, but at that particular moment, his instincts seemed to have failed in reacting as whomever was behind him brought something heavy down on his head. The last thing he could recall before succumbing to the darkness was a set of strong hands pushing him into the small confines of the Impala's trunk and slamming the lid shut.

* * *

It had been quite a bit of time when the giggle session finally ended. Dean had stopped pacing and was now seated on his cot in a bit of daze from the extra antibiotics working on his system. Caylee had made sure Sam finished with his meal and had taken the tray away, when Dean gloomily stated, "I can't believe you didn't save me any jello."

"I thought you hated jello, Dean," Caylee commented.

"Not the lime flavored kind," he mumbled.

"Ah, that's okay Dean. We'll bring you some next time."

"Okay."

"See, I told you he can be entertaining," Sam smiled.

"Yeah I can see that," Caylee chuckled.

Her giggling suddenly came to a halt, her head jerking up as though she caught a scent. Appearing concerned, she got up. "Uh, boys. I'll be back," she said before leaving out the room hastily.

Dean's curious gaze followed her out the door. "That was weird," he said climbing off the cot and shuffling over to the vacant seat beside Sam, "Now that I'm a little more lucid. I gotta talk to ya, little buddy."

"I call dibbs on the nurse," Sam pointed his finger, believing that was what his brother was to talk to him about.

"Oh hell no dude, I saw her first," Dean argued.

"Technically, she saw me first," Sam countered.

"Whatever Sammy, that's not what I want to talk to you about."

"It's Sam, and what did I _not_ do this time?" Sam wisecracked.

Dean gave him a sour look.

Sam laughed, "Just kidding."

Suddenly Dean looked down, a wave of guilt and sadness washing over his features.

Sam's eyes widened realizing he crossed the line, bringing on the guilt and pain he encountered from the beginning of this ordeal. "Oh no Dean. Jeez, I was only kidding," Sam pleaded. He gasped when Dean looked away. "No Dean, please. I'm sorry. I didn't mean..."

He stopped when Dean began to snicker. "You..." he huffed out of frustration, "You jerk!"

Dean laughed whole-heartedly, "Man, you should've seen your face. You should be in a hospital more often. You're just too gullible."

"Asshole!" Sam chucked his pillow at him. He was becoming more agile the more the sedative wore off. "I hate you. Alright now what do you want to talk to me about?"

Dean cleared his throat handing Sam the pillow back, "Before they put you to sleep, you muttered something. And believe it or not, I heard it."

Sam cocked his head to the side, "What did I say?"

Dean smirked, "You remember me being in your head, didn't you?"

Sam's face immediately fell. "Oh," he muttered softly.

"It's nothing to be embarrassed about. You were in my head once."

"Yea," Sam responded sheepishly.

"Why didn't you say anything when I asked?" He was met with a shrug.

"Cuz I didn't want you to be embarrassed."

"Sam, you realize that should be vice versa."

"Huh?"

"Never mind," Dean dismissed it. "So how did it go with, you know?" he asked, referring to the creature they encountered.

"Oh that," Sam smirked, a bright glint shining briefly in his eyes, "Let's just say I got a good handle on it."

"Then why were you running away from it."

Sam looked down, his eyes saddening. "I wasn't running away from it Dean. I wasn't scared of _it..._I...I don't know, I can't explain it."

That, however, wasn't satisfactory for Dean. "Sam, I maybe a lot of things, but I'm pretty sure I passed sixth grade with flying colors, so please enlighten me. It can't be that hard."

Sam sighed feeling tired, which he knew Dean was using to his advantage. The best way to get information off Sammy, besides alcohol, was when he's tired or hurt. Under normal circumstances, Sam probably wouldn't have given in, but then there was a nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach desperately wanting him to share. It was like a heavy emptiness weighing down on his shoulder, burdening him even more the longer he kept the secret to himself. He wanted to release it, and there was only one way to do that, courteous of his curious brother. "I wasn't scared of it, I was more scared of myself. I was giving up. In a way, I wanted it to kill me."

Dean eyebrows formed a tall A.

Sam licked his lips before continuing. "Like I said before, I didn't think it mattered anymore. I wanted it to end. I wanted out, and I was going to let it take me," he confessed glumly. "But then somehow you showed up and -which how was that by the way? I definitely know it wasn't a figment."

The corner of Dean's lip creased. "Yeah, you can thank Cas for that."

"Really? I thought he didn't like me."

"So did I. But anyways you were saying..."

A strained frown formed on Sam's face, "Eh nothing. Can I go to sleep now?"

"No no," Dean protested playfully, "Come on, you know you want to say it."

"No I don't."

"Yes you do. Come on Sammy," he urged.

"Bite me!"

"Rather not, you're like flim-flam right now! But come on, say it dude!"

"Alright!" Sam exclaimed, shaking his head, "You saved me. Again. You brought me back believing I can make a difference in this world. There, you happy?"

Dean snorted, "Now was that so hard?"

"Sometimes I really hate you," Sam seethed.

"Hey you're the one spilling your guts out, not me."

Sam laughed rolling his eyes, "Dean, I think we way overstepped our bounds into chick-flick territory."

"Dude, we've practically conquered it. Can we pull the troops out now?"

"Yeah man we can, but before we do, since we're having this, so to speak, heart to heart..."

"Yes," Dean inquired raising his eyebrows.

Sam opened his mouth to speak, but his voicebox suddenly had stage fright. "It's...uh...you..."

"What is it, Sam?"

Sam sighed. "You told me you remembered Hell. I know you wouldn't tell me unless I asked, and I can't imagine what it was like, but I can see sometimes that it does affect you. I just thought, maybe, we can talk-"

"No," Dean furtively cut him off.

"What?"

"I don't want to talk about it Sam," Dean said in his most serious tone. It was kind of unnerving.

"But I...I can help you," Sam pleaded.

"How?"

Sam fell silent for a brief second before stuttering, "I...I..."

"Please Sam," Dean spoke softly. "I understand what you're trying to do. I appreciate it, really. But I...I don't want to tell you. I don't want to make you understand. You don't deserve that. I'm not trying to be mean here," he shook his head, "But you need to see eye-to-eye with me on this."

Sam listened intently gazing at him tersely.

Dean licked his lips, fighting back the weight of emotion that festered behind his eyes, and the screams that played in his head. "I don't remember everything. Some parts just come and go. But when they do, what I see...I can't...," he looked away still the fighting the emotion. Rubbing his neck, he turned back to his brother, "I told you I didn't regret making that deal for you. If it came down to it, I would do it again in a heartbeat. But now, I can't talk about it Sammy. Maybe sometime I can, but right now, no. I'm sorry."

Sam nodded his head, "I understand. But if you do need a shoulder to cry on, then..."

"Dude, we've gotta stop this. This is becoming way too awkward. In fact, I want to erase this moment right here and now. This never happened," Dean jested trying to lighten the mood.

Sam laughed, "Hey you instigated it."

"Yeah, whatever. So really, how're you feeling?"

"Groggy, but good. I don't know if it's the morphine talking, but I feel good. Pain is gone," Sam answered honestly.

"That's great. Sure would like to know what the hell that was though."

Sam nodded in agreement, "I don't know. I don't think it was anything natural, Dean. It felt different. All I know it felt like there were several spikes being driven through my head slowly. I really thought I was a goner there. It felt like it."

Dean huffed. "Well, the good news is that it's gone," he reassured slapping Sam's leg, which gave an involuntary twitch.

Several crashes occurred outside, followed by the sound of loud voices. Intrigued, Dean went to the window and pulled back the curtain. His eyes widened at who he saw down there, and he closed the curtain swiftly.

"What is it, Dean?" Sam asked quietly.

He gave a lop-sided grin and squeaked, "Nothing!"

His _nothing_ was contradicted by several screams that sounded off from outside. Alarmed by the commotion, Sam turned to his brother, "Dean?"

Dean scratched his head, appearing nervous. "It's really nothing to worry about Sammy. Just a bunch of demons outside ready to come in here and kill us. But no biggie," he laughed nervously, totally agreeing with his brother's look of shock, his mouth gaped open.

Suddenly the lights flickered and went off cascading them into darkness.


	23. Chapter 23

Once the lights went out, the emergency lights kicked back on bringing about an eerie glow on the hospital's inhabitants. Dean went back to the window and peered out of it again, and as before he saw Rufus standing in the midst of the parking lot surrounded by a few demon-possessed vessels. Only now there weren't as many of them as he saw before; that must mean...

"What are we going to do Dean?" his brother asked with a hint of panic in his voice.

"I don't know," Dean snapped back, pulling out his cell phone and scrolling its contents for Bobby's number. "Where's Bobby?" He dialed, but the phone rung several times before going to voicemail.

"Bobby went outside to get something from the trunk," Sam answered quietly, a fear unimaginable spreading throughout his chest. "That was half an hour ago."

Sam's answer did nothing but stir up the panic Dean was feeling. "Shit. Only Bobby knows where the wards are. Shit!" he screamed out in frustration, slamming his fist against the wall. "They better not have done anything to him."

"What wards?" Sam queried.

"Just some relics and spells Bobby put in the hospital to keep the demons away. As long as they stay in tact, Rufus and his buddies shouldn't be able to get in," Dean responded punching in Bobby's number one more time.

The third ring had occurred when a blood-curdling scream echoed in the hallway, sounding close enough to be right outside their door. Innately, Dean went to check it out. "Don't move," he ordered to Sam.

Dean opened the door cautiously and stepped out finding the hallway to be just as dark as the room. With whatever light the emergency lamps conjured, he could see people running off at the far end of the corridor. The scream he had heard earlier resounded again somewhere behind him. He ran down the hallway, in search for it.

Soon he crossed over the left corner and found the owner of the screams struggling underneath a large muscular man with no shirt and long tawny hair. The burly man had the blond nurse pinned to the floor, and was inching towards her neck, sniffing at the aroma she gave off.

Dean rushed forward and used all his strength to pry the man off the scrawny woman. The large man straightened up with lightning agility and Dean groaned once he saw the eyes and the teeth. Next, the vampire picked the hunter up by his throat and tossed him over into a nearby wall. Dean collided with the wall creating a sickening sound and fell into a heap on the ground, winded.

The vampire's lips curled into a gleeful grin at the sight of his new victim and stalked over to him, forgetting about the woman, who managed to escape by taking off. "Ooh, you're a pretty one,aren't you?" it gloated mirthfully eying Dean with a particular hunger.

Dean looked up at it incredulously. _Oh what the hell? _

The vampire pounced and was on top of him before he could even blink. The man straddled his thighs and punched him a few times around his temples. Once the vampire saw Dean's dazed look, he knelt down and began sniffing up his torso, occasionally licking his black t-shirt: Dean's muscular scent invigorating to the core. "Ooh baby, the things I'm going to do to you," it remarked seductively.

Dean was beyond disgusted. "Get the hell off me," he slurred angrily. Blood oozed down the side of his face from where the vamp's knuckles split open the skin, and he knew the blood would only spur him on. He tried to push the vampire off of him, but the sucker's weight could've been compared to that of a sumo wrestler's; plus the antibiotics that were currently in his system made his body somewhat lethargic, not to mention the vamp's attack on his face. He was stuck! The vampire's death-inducing breath and lack of hygiene was suffocating causing his vision to blur. Then suddenly the vampire moved up and twisted his neck harshly to the side before lowering down to take it's first bite.

Before the vampire could savor the taste of his victim, a bare foot appeared in his line of vision. Alarmed, he looked up to see a tall man in a hospital gown wielding an axe in his right hand. "Get off him," he spat and swung the head of the axe effectively lopping off his head.

The vamp's head rolled off to the side, and it's dead body slumped over on top of Dean, dousing the top of his shirt with its coagulated blood.

"Ugh," Dean grimaced pushing the decapitated corpse off him, then glanced up surprised to see his brother hovering, "Sam?"

Sam shook his head maintaining a grip on his swirling vision, feeling globs of sweat beginning to pool around his brow, "Yeah, it's me. Come on," he gasped extending out a shaky hand. His brother grasped it and he staggered in trying to pull Dean to his feet.

"Sam?" Dean called out taking a hold of his shoulders, as his body began to sway.

"I'm okay Dean. I'm okay," he breathed while swallowing back the nausea that blossomed in the back of his throat. He could believe it. His vision was starting to focus, and his body felt cool.

"Yeah I can see that," Dean retorted disbelievingly. "Come on, let's get you back to the room," he guided him away, keeping an arm around his torso. "What the hell were you thinking?"

Sam glared at him for a second before returning his concentration on limping back into the room.

"Where'd you get the axe?" Dean asked.

Sam shrugged. "Found it lying in the room," he mumbled.

"Really? I don't remember leaving it there," Dean said to himself.

Once they arrived back at the room, Dean made sure the door was secure, while Sam went back over to the bed and sat down on the edge, panting slightly. The nauseating feeling in his throat now traveled it's way into his gut, and he fought hard against it. Maybe yanking out his IV wasn't such a good idea now.

"Vampires, that sneaky son of a bitch!" Dean cursed. Once he had finished with the door, he stumbled back over to the window, astonished to see Rufus and his few friends still standing where he last saw them. _Maybe that means the wards are still in place, but for how long?_

As if Sam had read his thoughts, his little brother spoke in between gasps for air, "Y-you know… Dean, if there was…that one vamp, you know there's more."

"That's pretty obvious Sam," Dean snapped.

Sam took a deep breath. He spoke up again once he felt the nausea calm down a bit, "And if they're here with demons, you know they're here to take out the wards."

"Again, obvious!"

They were interrupted by more screams and running coursing throughout the building. It was going to get bad. There was no telling how many vampires there were. And with the demons posted outside, the people had nowhere to go.

Sam turned to Dean "Okay, so how are we going to do this?"

"We?"

"Yes, we!"

"Are you nuts?" Dean questioned.

"No, we have to fight them!" Sam protested, his voice booming off the square walls.

"Sam you just woke up an hour ago..._from a coma_, and you want to take on a group of nasties. I don't think so!"

"Then what do you want me to do Dean? Stay in here and hide like a good little boy, while people are getting killed out there. No way!"

"Sam, you are in no condition to fight vampires, let alone demons! I mean look at yourself, you can hardly walk!"

"You wanna judge me on how I look! Have you seen yourself lately? You look like you're about to fall over any minute!" Dean was about to retort when Sam cut him off, "No Dean. We're both not in the best of shape to do this, but we don't have a choice. Who else is going to save these people?"

"Bobby," Dean nominated, praying that their mentor would show up soon, because he really didn't want his brother to fight in his condition. The outlook didn't look heartwarming.

Sam shook his head. "Dean, you tried several times, and he would've picked up by now. For all we know, he may already be captured. We have to do this Dean. And I'm not letting you take on this by yourself," he said with finality in his tone.

Dean's face fell realizing that his little brother was right. They were the only one's who had the skills to take out vampires, and demons, or any other supernatural entity that happened to stumble along their path. Certainly the outcome would mean a trip back to Hell, but at least they would go down swinging and a few people would be saved. Reluctantly, he nodded biting his lip. _I guess the highway to Hell it is!  
_

Sam gave a stiff nod before pushing off the bedspread and marching towards the door.

Dean took one look after him and realized something important. He called out, "Uh Sam, hang on."

"What is it Dean?" Sam asked confused watching his brother kneel down on the other side of Sam's bed and hearing the sound of a compartment drawer being pulled out. "Luckily I was bored and found these too," he heard him mutter before standing back up with a pair of blue hospital slacks and a white t-shirt. He came over and handed them to him. "I think you're going to want to have these."

"Why?" asked Sam accepting the garments.

"Cuz your ass is hanging out," Dean replied blatantly, "And we are not going down swinging with your bare white ass shining like a light to the world," he looked up tapping his chin, "Though you could moon em', maybe that'll frighten them to death."

Sam delivered another one of his infamous glares before slipping on the pants and the shirt as quickly as he could. Once finished, Dean passed him the axe, as he cocked his trusted sawed-off shotgun, swinging the bag of weapons around his shoulder.

"Alright, here's the plan. I hold em' down, you swing. Got it?"

"Dean, we gotta come up with something better than that," Sam objected.

"I'm all ears Sam. Because the way I see it, all we've got are two sickies, two pairs of wobbly feet, and one axe! And a bunch of weapons that don't do shit against vampires. So if you can come up with something better, that'd be great!"

Sam shook his head at his brother's logic, "Whatever dude, let's go."

They stormed through the darkened hallways with their weapons held up high. Dean took the front, aiming his shotgun in all directions, keeping his eyes peeled and his hearing on high alert. He could feel the drugs beginning to loosen their hold on his system, which was a relief. He needed to be as lucid as possible, for his sake and his brother. Besides, after completing the hunt on the alphyn that night, he was slightly excited for the new one.

Sam kept behind his brother mimicking his same movements. Though the nausea and the feeling of weightlessness never left, he fought every second on trying to remain upright, as his main priority was hiding amongst the shadows in the halls. He realized that this was a bad idea, especially since this was the first time he's been out of bed in three weeks, but given the circumstances, it was either _kill or be killed_. Now if he could focus on summoning all of his strength in combating the enemy, because he didn't want to admit it, but he really wanted to go back to bed.

Screams and shouts now seemed to echo from all corners. The brothers had no idea which direction to turn to in regards of helping innocent people. Instead, they decided on keeping straight down their current hallway, walking quietly as church mice, set on taking out any vamp that happened to stumble across their path. Dean realized that they had to be quick, because who knows how many wards the vamps took out. The main thing was to prevent the demons from entering at any and all costs.

Sam figured that it wouldn't be a bad idea to find a morgue or hematology lab. If they could get their hands on some dead man's blood, it would increase their chances of winning this battle. Soon they came upon the stairwell and decided to go south since the morgue usually resided in the basement. As quickly as they could fly down the eerily quiet stairwell, they came upon the front lobby door. Dean steadily creaked open the door and scouted the area. It was clear.

Using their father's marine signal hand-gestures, Sam obeyed by rushing into the hallway with his axe held high, grimacing at the strain it put on his stitches in his abdomen. Dean followed brandishing his weapon and taking the front yet again, leading towards the front entrance of the hospital, where the screams grew louder. Upon encroaching on the nurse's station, they knelt down, slowly frog-crawling around the desk towards a huge commotion that sounded like a fight.

Dean poked his head around the corner of the desk and saw two male homeless-looking vampires screaming hisses at one another while playing tug-a-war on a male doctor. Dean squinted his eyes and saw that the poor doctor screaming was Dr. Colbertson, the one who always had to give them grief over something. Pursing his lips, he contemplated about leaving the doctor to his fate, but the nudge from his brother made him revert that decision. Grudgingly he jumped to his feet, along with his brother and rushed forward.

"HEY!" Dean yelled, catching the vamp's attention.

The two vampires turned their way letting out two ear-splitting caterwauls. Pained from the screeches, Dean shot at the vampire on the right, striking his shoulder. It fell backwards crying out in pain, scratching at the painful buckshot embedded. The other vampire, angry at the hostility, tossed the doctor away and charged at the two of them.

Dean shot off at it again hitting it's mark in the creature's chest. It did nothing. The vampire kept pace. It grabbed a hold of his shirt and effortlessly flung him over the nurse's desk. When it rounded on Sam, the hunter swung. It swiftly ducked, clasping it's grimy hands over the handle of the axe. Sam fought to reclaim his weapon. As an option, Sam slammed his head against the vamp's brow, only for his head to sting like hell and the vampire to become angrier. It snarled and spat yanking harder. Sam then kicked it fiercely in the gut, effectively causing it to fall backwards.

Sam tightened his grip around the wooden pole. He only had a second to regain his composure as the vamps jumped to their feet simultaneously. Dr. Colbertson, still in denial of what was happening, clambered to his feet, gazing at the two fiends wildly. The vamp Dean shot caught his scent and turned his way. It sneered before leaping in the air and pinning him against the wall, fighting to gain a bite from the struggling man. The other eyed Sam murderously, licking it's pale lips.

It made the first move to attack, but it didn't get two feet near Sam as another gunshot reverberated and the vamp was sent flying off it's feet. Sam saw his brother emerge from behind the desk, reloading the barrels. Immediately, Sam limped over to the writhing vamp and brought the axe down on it's neck.

The other vampire still held the doctor to the wall and just lowered its teeth when Dean came up from behind it, pried it off the shaking man and pushed it against the wall. "Get it Sammy," he called. The vampire screeched horribly when it saw the swing of the blade.

* * *

There wasn't much they could do about the vamp's corpses as they had others to take out. Leaving Dr. Colbertson to his shock, they carried on through the rest of the corridors on the first floor, still in search of the morgue. The beads of perspiration continued to form on Sam's brow, mostly from the strain swinging the axe put on his abdomen and shoulder. He breathed deeply now, as fiery sensations began to tingle across his stomach. The morphine was wearing off. The limp in his gate increased, but he stifled from groaning to alert Dean; because if Dean knew he was in pain, he'd put a stop on this whole thing. Sam knew he couldn't risk that.

More screams grew in scale on the floors above, along with the screeches and howls made by the monsters chasing and chowing. Sam glanced up at the ceiling and saw that it had a slight tremor to it. That must mean people were running back and forth.

"Do we even know how many there are Dean?" Sam asked, glancing behind them.

Dean sighed, "I don't know. But when I first saw them out there with Rufus, I know there was at least ten."

"Shit," Sam grumbled.

"Yep," Dean agreed.

Sounds of fleeing footsteps and whimpering caught their attention to the right of them. Not long afterward, a lean man in hospital scrubs raced around a corner, skidding to a halt, wide-eyed in front of the end of the shotgun. Dean relaxed, lowering his gun at seeing that it was the phlebotomist David.

David breathed when he recognized Dean and then began to blunder wildly, not making any sense, with his arms flailing madly around him, "Nah...ooh...thos...pe...pah...ahh...bite..."

Sam watched the boy with wonder, sensing that he was in the grip of shock. Annoyed, Dean rolled his eyes before slapping his hand across the boy's pale cheek.

David straightened back up, clasping his cheek, calming down as the slap knocked some sense back into him. He gasped, "Thanks, I needed that. You gotta get out of here! These...these people...are _biting_ other people. I don't know, but I think...now don't think I'm crazy, cuz I don't know if I can handle that right now, but I think they're _vampires!" _He said the word quietly, peering to the side.

Dean snorted. "No shit Sherlock," he mumbled off to the side.

The look on the kid's face indicated he was freaking out all the more, "Please you gotta believe me!"

"Dude chill. We believe you," Dean answered him casually strolling past him, ducking his head around the corner scouting for any more blood-suckers.

"You do?" David squeaked.

"Yes we do, now come on," Dean forced, jerking his head to the side, motioning for the two to follow.

Sam obliged, lowering his axe somewhat to lessen the strain on his tired muscles, coming up beside his brother. "You know him?"

"Yeah, he helped us a bit a while back."

"Oh. Alright, we..." he paused, sucking a large breath.

Dean turned a concerned eye on him, "Sam, you okay?"

"Yes I'm fine Dean," Sam gasped nodding his head, "We still...need...to find blood."

"Yeah, but...wait a minute," Dean paused turning around facing the phlebotomist, "David, you work with blood. Any way you can get your paws on some dead man's blood?"

The young man gazed at him like he just flew out of the cuckoo's nest. "You want my paws on _what?!"_

Dean gritted his teeth out of irritation, eyeing the ceiling impatiently. "Dead man's blood David."

"Dead man's blood, as in blood from dead man?" the kid squeaked.

"Yes! Dead man's blood, did I stutter? Do you know where to find some or not?"

"Uh, I...I guess so," David answered tentatively, then mumbling under his breath, "What do you want with that?"

"Good, now let's go get us some," Dean spat not hearing the last part, clenching his shotgun harder, using all his might not to let off a shot. "Keep up!"

"Dean lay off him, he's just a kid."

"Hey! I'm twenty-eight," David spoke up defiantly.

Sam looked his way in disbelief. "Dude! I'm twenty-five and you look younger than me. Like eighteen."

David gave an irritated sigh while slumping down his shoulders, "Yeah I get that a lot."

"No, seriously dude. How is it that you look so young?"

The boy shrugged, "Well I guess it helps that I run a lot of marathons."

Sam nodded in understanding, turning back to his brother who donned the same look. Both Winchesters simultaneously looked at the kid with a mischievous grin.

"Really?" Dean piped.

* * *

_"AHHHHHHHHHHHHH..."_ David screamed while running his ass off down the hallway, his arms full of blood bags, with a parade of a dozen or so vampires racing after him. The blood gurgled and churned in the bags as he ran, causing the bags to flop haphazardly along his arms. The many monsters ran fast after their prey, hissing and growling, their insides hungry for the bloodmobile on legs running steadfast from them.

David sobbed amidst his screams of panic, keeping his two feet pacing as the overwhelming fear lengthened his stride, hopping over the various dead bodies scattered throughout the corridor. The faster he picked up his pace, the more the bags flopped and fall to the ground.

As the bags fell to the ground creating a certain _crumble trail_, a vampire would stop and pick it up, whilst the others continued to run after David. Completely oblivious to the bag's contents, the vampire would bite down and before they realized what they bit into, it was already too late as the poison quickly took it's effect, and they dropped to the floor like flies.

Sam and Dean followed the trail of the moaning vampires that littered the floor. And as quickly as they could, chopped each and every one's head off before heading to the next. The sound of more crying and thundering footsteps sounded above their heads, meaning that the bait moved up to the second floor.

Sam had to periodically pass the axe to his brother, as he was becoming incredibly tired and the fiery spasms in his gut flared. His eyes would droop every now and then, and he found himself taking large staggering pants to stay awake. Dean thoughtlessly switched weapons when Sam asked for it, realizing that Sam was tiring out quick. He wanted to get this done and over with so that his little brother could rest; Hell for that matter, so he could rest too. This job was causing a bit of effort on both their parts. They quickly followed the trail upstairs.

There weren't many bags left in David's arms. He could feel his pace begin to slow, partially due to the lactic acid building up in his calf muscles. Every so often he would glance behind him and see the number of vamps dwindle. He glanced one more time and saw that there were maybe four or five at the most left, but one particular gargantuan fella wearing a black leather biker's outfit, completely swathed in chains, was gaining on him fast. The vamp's face appeared wild and ecstatic, smiling wickedly with the blood smeared across his face gleaming in the passing lights. It didn't take long for the biker boy to catch up to the energizer bunny on steroids carrying the bags. He grappled his shoulder and spun him around.

Totally terrified and about ready to piss his pants, David came to a last minute decision as he stared death in the face. "HERE. TAKE IT!" he shrieked tossing the rest of the bags up in the air, before taking off down another hallway.

The conglomerate of vampires licked their lips surrounding the plastic bags, eyeing them with a ravenous hunger, and then dove in to indulge in their gourmet feast. Like the others, it wasn't long before they realized their mistake. The moment the dead man's blood hit their lips, their bodies became rigid and collapsed to the ground, where they coughed and gagged, sending their supernatural frames into convulsions.

Soon shadows appeared by their side and in one quick stroke, their heads were cut clean-shaven off. Sam closed his eyes out of relief after his brother took care of the last vamp; or what they were sure was the last vampire. No more screams could be heard, so that must mean no other vamp was feasting off someone. The battle was over.

David was nowhere in sight, and if the boy was smart, he would've hid by now. Lowering the axe, Dean motioned for his brother to follow him. They walked headlong into an empty room and strolled up to the window, pulling back the curtains, and lifting it open, where they were met with a soothing breeze. Dean smirked at the demon vessel, who seemed to not have moved an inch since the storm of vampires.

"Sorry about your bad luck, buddy!" He called, triumphantly. "Maybe next time!"

Rufus started to chuckle. "Dean, Dean, Dean. I'm surprised at you. You think I'm standing out here all because I'm waiting for the wards to be knocked out? No."

Dean remained quiet, his gut instinct telling him that something bad was going to happen. Sam equally remained quiet searching the perimeter for more demons. So far there was Rufus, and three others.

Rufus continued to laugh. "You fail to realize Dean, I could've gotten in a long time ago..."

"Right," Dean interrupted, "If that's the case, then prove it."

"Sure thing. Just give me a moment. I'm waiting on a few friends," the demon yelled back.

Curious to what he meant by that, the boy's glanced at each other concerned. Their answer came to them when a certain rumbling suddenly infiltrated their space, creating a tremor to occur throughout the hospital. Both hunters grabbed a hold of the windowsill to stabilize themselves. The sound of whistling caused them to look up to see a rapidly forming storm cloud writhing with electrical currents consume the night sky heading towards them speedily. They stared out in horror as the cloud advanced and suddenly engulfed the hospital.

"GET DOWN!" Dean hollered throwing himself and his brother to the ground, forming the fetal position, just as the window burst all over them and the mounds of demons smoke flew overtop of their heads.

The army of demons had arrived.


	24. Chapter 24

It seemed like hours for the demon smoke to finally cease flying overtop of their heads. The tremor inside the hospital continued to pulsate, causing loose objects such as vases, carts full of medical supplies, and unsecured gurneys to fall to the ground. The once quiet hallways after the vampire siege echoed with blood-curdling screams once more for a full minute before falling deathly calm a second time. A minute later, the voices struck up again, which sounded like choruses of harsh shouts and war-like cries. The boys instantly knew the demons were queuing up to gun after them. It would only be a matter of time before they found them and completed their mission.

Luckily due to the pentagrams tattooed on their chests, the boys remained unpossessed. Dean uncurled himself from his fetal position and peered at his brother, paling at the look he gave him. He recognized that look: the one Sam gave him when he knew the situation was bleak and there was no chance of survival. He agreed whole-heartedly. With no doubt, an army of demons, now residing in the hospital all gunning for them; yeah! The chances of them coming out of this alive and kicking looked pretty slim.

Sam shook his head in what appeared like defeat, biting his lip, and then resting his forehead on the cool tiled floor. He knew Dean saw it in his eyes. That was obvious with the way Dean shrugged at him, grinning like this whole thing was no big deal. With possibly nearly everyone else in the hospital now possessed, and all have one thing on their mind, there was no way they were getting out alive. The emotion he felt over it burst out of him, probably amplified because of the dissipating drugs in his system and the acute pain fluctuating all over his body. And so he tried to hide it by kneeling his head down, hoping his brother wouldn't see his eyes swell up with tears. He didn't want to die again. He wasn't ready for his final judgment yet, not while he still had a mission to carry out. His main priority was to track down and kill Lilith. It was his only redemption.

Dean realized Sam was trying to hide his emotion and he sympathized, because he felt it too. "Sam, it's going to be okay," he said, attempting to be reassuring.

"Don't," Sam gasped. "Just don't."

Dean's breath hitched when he heard the despair in his brother's voice. He realized he should exhibit the same sensitivity, but was that really his style? Sucking in a deep breath, he spoke furtively, "We're going to be okay." False hope never really got them anywhere, but pitying themselves over the cold hard truth wasn't going to help them either.

Sam snorted at Dean's statement. He knew Dean was being his typical, stubborn self, denying the truth in trying to keep his little brother calm. Sam missed that. He lifted his head and smiled brightly at his brother, "Yeah, I know we are," he lied.

"Seriously Sam, we'll be fine. We just gotta come up with a plan like we did last time. I mean, Hell, it's not like we haven't dealt with a siege of demons before," Dean encouraged.

"That was only thirty Dean. There are over a thousand people in this hospital. And I'm pretty sure a lot more demons came this time," Sam stammered.

"Yeah well the odds weren't exactly in our favor back at that jail cell either, but we still made it out alive," replied Dean.

Sam looked away wanting to believe his brother's strong words. Personally, he thought they were in way over their heads in this. He watched the open door cautiously, waiting to hear the sound of approaching footsteps. After a moment's pause, relieved that they didn't have to act so quickly, he turned to Dean and despite what Dean had said to him, he nodded his head, the shine in his eyes revealing that he was tentatively accepting his and his brother's fate. Well, his anyway; the angels more than likely would make sure Dean escaped. And on a small level, Sam was okay with that.

"You're right. You're right. Um, okay…" he breathed, concentrating on his strong will. "What we need are weapons. Where's…where's Ruby's knife?"

A small panic flared in Dean's chest when it dawned on him where he last stashed the damn thing. He grimaced and turned his head to the floor, finding it to be more bearable to look at, "Um, I don't have it."

"Don't give me that Dean, I know you do!" Sam lashed, not in the mood to deal with Dean's childish dispute over denying he took it.

"No seriously Sammy. I don't have it."

"Bullshit. I know you have it, because I couldn't find it after we separated," Sam spat angrily.

"Sam, I don't have it because it's not on me. I forgot it in the trunk," Dean answered dolefully.

Sam huffed out of disbelief. His head fell back to the floor with a soft _thunk._ "Great! Just great!" he exclaimed. Taking another long, exasperated breath, Sam asked, "Then what weapons do we have?"

Dean grabbed a hold of the duffel seated next to his leg and opened it, scanning it's contents. "Let's see. We got…two shotguns, uh…a couple grenades, but those aren't going to be helpful. Uh, we also got two more canisters of mustard gas…"

"Mustard Gas?"

"Hmmm hymph, Bobby made it."

"You serious?"

"'Fraid so. Told ya, the man's a genius. Anyway, we got rope…useless, a couple of firecrackers…hmmm, don't ask. An empty jug. One flashlight. Two boxes full of rock-salt bullets…Oh and one pocket-knife," Dean listed as he pulled the items from the bag.

"That's all we got!"

"Hey, how was I supposed to know this many demons were going to show up?" Dean countered, emptying the boxes of bullets into his shirt pocket.

Sam didn't argue as he sat up and pursed his lips together beginning to ponder what sort of action they should take. He was in deep thought when Dean decided to break his train of thinking.

"Wha' cha thinking, Sammy?"

"It's Sam," Sam replied monotonously still pondering. He glanced up, scanning the room hoping a streak of inspiration would transpire. His eyes traveled over the armoire, the main bed, the curtains, broken glass shards, and taking into account that none of those items were remotely helpful. Then finally his eyes rested on a dresser planted next to the main bed, with a glass half-full of liquid. That's when an idea struck him. "We're still on the second floor right?"

"Yeah."

"The main water supply usually is in the basement or in a boiler room right?"

"Okay."

"If we can get down there and find that room, then I'm sure we can make ourselves another weapon."

Dean smirked. "Sounds like a plan to me," he piped rising up on his feet, and helping his brother up as well.

Sam crossed over to the dresser and opened its drawer, glad to see a bible resided in there, but was more than happy to see there was a small plastic rosary wedged in between its pages. He tossed the item over to Dean, who immediately pocketed it. Afterwards, Dean reached into the duffel and pulled out the spare shotgun, which he handed to his brother. Together they cocked the weapons after pumping them full of rock salt, and held them at the ready.

"Time to go out swinging."

Taking huge breaths, both fled out of the room with their backs pressed against each other. As usual, Dean took the front, while Sam watched behind, traipsing backwards as fast as he could muster to keep up with Dean. It didn't take long before a thunderous roar resounded through the halls, resembling a stampede heading in their direction. Dean peaked around a corner, his eyes widening when he saw it was a stampede of human hosts sprinting towards them.

Manfully, he stepped out into the middle of the hallway and shot off a round. A nurse took the hit square in the chest and fell backwards screeching horribly. Sam came out the next second and let off another round, causing a black doctor to fall to his knees. The others continued to race towards them with devilish sneers. Sam realized there were too many of them to shoot all down. He grabbed Dean's bicep and pulled him away, just as he let off another shot.

Together they fled away from the swarm. Sam was running on pure adrenaline alone. He was starting to question if his body would be able to hold out during this escapade, but with the nasties behind him yelling out taunts about evisceration, his body hadn't disappointed him yet. He, along with Dean, took turns in releasing round after round of rock salt. He turned around once more to shoot, but the trigger clicked indicating he was empty. Dean saw his problem and immediately dug into his shirt pocket, retrieving two bullets, and tossing them Sam's way. Sam caught them and opened his shotgun.

Sam had just reloaded the barrels when all of a sudden a demon lurking behind a corner dove out and side-tackled him off his feet.

"SAM!" Dean screamed skidding to a halt.

The several demons chasing from behind caught up faster than Dean was expecting. He was instantly knocked off his feet when a heavy set orderly, who resembled a beefy version of Ghandi, body-slammed into him. Winded, he peered upward, gasping when the demon bent down picking him up by his neck, slammed him against the sturdy wall, and then crunched his bear-like fist against his trachea.

Sam struggled with the blond-haired doctor that knocked him to the ground. The man was on top of him throwing punches, but with his quick training, he blocked each of the swings. The other demons, however, embarrassed by their partner's futile attempt, grabbed a hold of his squirming legs pulling them straight, and two others came up and grabbed at his hands, securing him into place while the demon on top of him began to make an assault on his face. Sam held his breath during the ensemble of bone-cracking hits, praying someone will help him out.

Blackness began to enshroud Dean's vision and tiny white lights flitted all over, as Ghandi's hold grew tighter. What sounded like meat being pulverized with a baseball bat, and the sounds of grunts, Dean briefly looked out of the corner of his eye and saw his brother being bludgeoned to death by fists. Infuriated and terrified for Sam's well being, Dean kicked out into the beefy man's gut, but to no avail, it had no effect. The demon slammed him against the wall again and strengthened its grip. A thousand different maneuvers desperately flashed through his mind, in trying to think of a way out of this predicament. It seemed hopeless once the white lights propagated and the blackness grew deeper. His legs flopped down coming to a standstill.

The sound of Sam groaning brought him back into attention and an idea popped in his head. Immediately he reached down and retrieved his pocketknife suspended on his hip. Flinging open the blade, he pushed it into Ghandi's grouper fish sized eyeball and pulled it out. The demon screamed in pain clutching his head, thus releasing him. Dean fell to the ground, gasping. Once he gained a breath, he aimed his gun and shot the man off of Sam. He ran over and angrily kicked one of the unsuspecting demons holding onto Sam's right leg in the jaw, knocking her away. Using the wooden end of his gun, he fought off the others, knocking their sorry asses to the floor.

Sam was a bloody mess. Blood ran all over his face, and he didn't move, which startled Dean. Once the demons were off, Dean called out to him, keeping his eyes on the vessels, who were getting to their feet.

"Sam, up now!" he commanded, bending down to pick his dazed brother up.

A distant voice called to Sam in his muddled mind. He couldn't make it out who the voice belonged to, but judging by the edge of the tone, he could tell it was his brother. The trickle of blood down his nose and temples were really aggravating and aided in the murky depths his mind waded in. His entire face hurt, mainly because it felt like the Big Show in the WWE had manhandled it. Sam sluggishly rose up on unsteady legs trying to obey Dean's commands. He could feel his brother tug on him and started to lead him...somewhere.

Dean didn't like that Sam wasn't exactly capable of standing at the moment. He took aim and shot at the advancing demons, before pushing his brother onward. Looking all around for an exit or something, he spotted an unlocked hospital room door and pushed his brother through. Sam fell to the ground with a loud grunt, while Dean whipped the door closed and locked it. A heavy _thud_ occurred behind the door, along with a symphony of booming knocks. Dean looked all around and instantly began to barricade the door with the room's armoire, bed, dresser, or anything else he could find.

Once he felt confident in that the door will hold, he instantly came to Sam's side, ignoring his own aches and pains. He turned his brother over and peered at him concerned. "Sam! Sam, can you hear me?"

Sam coughed, "Yeah."

"You okay?"

"I'll live," Sam struggled to say, slitting his eyes open. "Did we get them?"

"Um…no, not by a long shot. Come on, sit up," Dean ordered to him softly. "We can hang here for just a few minutes, but only a few."

Sam nodded, sitting up and leaning against one of the bed's legs. He expelled out a long breath, resting his head up on his knees, working to gain control of his body's functions. No thanks to the beating he just endured, his nausea escalated, and a nasty headache sprouted. Perspiration now coated most of his body, especially his neck and arms, and he felt gross.

Dean stepped away. In the distance there was the sound of a running faucet, and he was back a second later, handing him a wet, terry cloth. Sam accepted it appreciatively, and he began to wipe away the residual goopiness from his face. "You're highly resourceful, you know that?"

"And don't you forget it," Dean pointed out, turning his attention back to the pounding on the door.

Sam finished wiping off his face, until the rag was good and crimson. He looked up to Dean, "Better?"

Dean pursed his lips together at seeing the damage inflicted on Sam's face. Yeah, he had wiped most of the blood off, but he still looked like he had lost to a grinder. Already, the sides of his temples were beginning to swell a little, and he hoped that Sam's eyes didn't swell shut. _Wouldn't that just complicated things a bit?_ Flashing a "yeah, sure you are, but really you're not" grin, he replied, "Much."

Sam nodded at his answer, understanding what he really meant, but that didn't matter now.

"Alright, so now what?"

"Give me a second," said Dean, scanning the entire room, hoping a good-to-do epiphany would spring forth.

The pounding on the door grew in scale. Dean suddenly twisted around alarmed, when a loud crack occurred. It sounded like they had broken through. He came over and studied the door's frame, calming down when he concluded that the door still held firm. He turned back around still deep in thought.

"Hang on Sammy, I'm still thinking," Dean voiced, eying the window with particular unease.

"Don't strain yourself," Sam retorted.

Annoyed, Dean rounded on him, "Okay hotstuff. If you got something, I'd be glad to hear it!"

Sam gave out a long sigh and turned his head, his eyes darting to something.

Dean followed his gaze and saw he was staring at a large gray vent positioned at the bottom of the wall.

"Oh hell no!"

* * *

"Just so you know, this was your idea!" Dean grumbled swiping down an overgrown cobweb, wiping his hand on his jeans.

"Yeah well, what else do you suggest? Crawl out the window?"

"Probably. But I'm telling you now, if anything pops out at me, I'm coming after you."

"What else would _pop_ out at you, besides a spider?"

"Dude, haven't you ever seen Gremlins...or Chucky?"

"Dean, I doubt a hoo-doo puppeteered killer doll is going to come at us right now...or is the least of our worries!"

"With the way things are, you never know!"

They've been crawling inside the hospital's vent system for a little over ten minutes searching for a way down to the basement. So far, they passed corner after corner, slowly traveling along the long stretches of metal. Their hands were more than dirty from the dust, and no doubt their bodies were covered in dust-bunnies galore. Soon after they passed another bend in the shaft -which Dean could've sworn had the same notch on it's edge a corner had five corners ago -it was possible, they were going in circles. When he voiced this concern to Sam, all his little brother told him was to "suck it up and keep going". Dean growled at his retort carrying on, scanning his flashlight, occasionally grumbling about his allergies and pesky siblings, still looking for a passage south.

After another fifteen minutes and still no exit, Dean stopped as he felt a heavy sneeze coming on. Covering his mouth to stifle the sound, his body gave in to the inevitable, the sound echoing throughout the walls. Jerking up, he exclaimed, "Damn dust." Scanning the light around again, Dean shined the light on Sam's bruised dirty face, "Man, nothing. There's no vent leading down to anywhere."

"There has to Dean. Keep going. We'll find it," Sam tried to reassure, hoping they'll find one quick, as his arms were trembling worse than they were when they started.

"No Sam, there isn't one. That's what I'm trying to tell you," he growled slamming his fist down, "There. Is. No. God. _D…Ahhhhh!"_

Luck would have it that in that moment, when Dean was slamming his fist, he inadvertently loosened the metallic sheets beneath him and it broke, sending both boys down a long shaft. They bounced against the walls, sliding down at an inconceivably fast pace. Dean extended his arms out grabbing at the walls, so to gain traction and slow down. His arm caught on a screw and it created a rip all up his forearm. Sam knew instantly what to do as he tucked in his arms and legs, ready for the impact that was bound to rattle his skeleton when the journey finally ended.

The shaft curved several times more when the signs of light began to show. Dean gasped when he could've sworn he saw a dead end. He wasn't wrong. With a loud crash, Dean's body hit the aluminum wall at the end, the momentum causing him to burst through in a cloud of dust. His body crumpled to the floor, smacking hard on what felt like cement. He heard more banging rumble from inside the vent. A second later, he heard a loud "whoa", and the next thing he knew was his brother broke his fall by landing on top of him. He groaned loudly from the impact.

"Sorry Dean," Sam rasped, slowly rolling off of him. "Thanks for the cushioning."

"Asshole," Dean moaned in response, staying put, waiting for the pain of being squashed to subside.

Sam patted his shoulder, smiling all the more at his plight. As Dean waited for the feeling to come back into his two best friends, Sam peeked up to see where the vent had led them. Realizing where they were, a brighter smile lit up over his features once he recognized the large aqua-filled basin, "What d'ya know? Luck is on our side for once."

* * *

The whole place was chaotic. People ran back and forth running from their friends, family, co-workers, hardly able to trust anyone. No one understood what was happening. First these savage-like people stormed through the building biting and feasting on many inhabitants, while most hid. Now after the strange cloud that consumed the hospital, it seemed like the devil, himself, possessed many others, causing them to do terrible things like slaying down anyone who walked near them, breaking their necks with ease. Many of the fiends scoured the place searching out for anyone who was not infected, tearing them apart, while others screamed out _Winchester_ or _Sam_ or _Dean._ There was no escape to the outside, because more waited out in the parking lot.

Dr. Stevens was beyond confused, and scared. He was curious about the black smog that infiltrated the hallways, but now he was more eager to find out why some of the staff and patients were behaving so...monstrously. It wasn't long before he realized that any attempt to civilly talk to one of them was out of the question. The nurse Silvia who worked in the Oncology ward sneered eerily before displaying inhumane strength and tossed him down halfway down the hallway. Angry, he sat up to reprimand, but decided against when an orderly, who tried to help, came up behind her and she killed him in one blow. After that the kind doctor took off running towards the pediatric ward.

He met Barbara somewhere along the way, and together, he and the stout nurse ran down to the fifth floor. With the way the people were acting, it wasn't surprising that the doctor and the nurse had to fight their way through.

Not having wrestled since junior college, Dr. Stevens learned he was a bit out of shape. One of the crazed people, another doctor he recognized that worked in the ER, charged at him upon sight. Dr. Stevens pushed Barbara to the side just in time, and turned in time for the man to miss him. The psychotic doctor howled with fury, calling him a _twat_ before charging at him again, and ramming into his midriff. He emitted a loud grunt as his back plowed into the behind wall. He looked up to see the man's eyes were all black. He didn't have a chance to wonder about it, when soon he was under attack with the man punching him in the gut.

Barbara came up unexpectantly behind them with a long IV pole. Using all her might, she swung the pole over the man's head like a tennis player would to a large ball. He staggered a second after the hit before turning on her. With a nod of his head, the woman was pinned up against the wall. Dr. Stevens gained his breath, and lunged forward, taking out a long syringe and stabbing it into the ER doctor's shoulder. The man screamed holy hell, bucking the doctor off him. Barbara fell off the wall and moved forward quickly, picking her pole back up. Producing another tennis players' swing, she clunked the top of his head, effectively knocking him out cold. Breathless, Dr. Stevens showed his gratitude, taking her hand, and sprinting off towards the ward.

When they arrived on the outside of the glass walls, most of the children were up against the glass, crying, slamming their fists in a full-blown panic. Dr. Stevens ran up to the sliding doors and rapidly punched in the security code. The terrified children were already piling out of the doors before they slid open. And they were beyond consolable.

"Kid. Kids. Calm down. Calm down. Stand here, and stay with Barbara. Okay," he told them, before looking at the nurse. "Stay here."

He strode into the dimly lit area cautiously, searching for the beds of two other children he knew: a boy and a girl both suffering from leukemia, and more than incapable of moving independently. After locating the little boy on the far end of the ward, still snug in his mother's blanket, he quickly unhooked his wires, and scooped him up in his arms. The little boy did not wake, but wrapped his arms around his neck and rested his little head on the doctor's shoulder.

Dr. Stevens picked up his pace moving towards the little girl's bed. He froze when he saw that it was empty, the covers pulled back. Alarmed, he looked around mostly on the ground to see if she had fallen. He came up on the other side of the bed, but still no sign of the little brunette.

Not wanting to take his chances, he turned to head back, when all of a sudden a tapping sound caught his attention. Whipping around in fright, he found nothing but a shadowy surrounding, with what little the light overhead the bedspreads could produce. A set of toy blocks suddenly scattered in front of him, followed a second later by the little brunette, emerging from the shadows in her tiny hospital gown holding a ripped-offed teddy-bear's head in her little hands.

"Hi there doctor," she said in an unusually high-pitched voice.

The doctor's body tensed, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up, and he backed up apprehensively as the girl stepped forward. He gulped when he saw her eyes too were black and soul-less as the others.

"What's the matter doctor? Don't you care about sick little girls anymore?" she asked icily.

Before Dr. Stevens could respond, the little girl let out an awful scream, chucking the bear's head to the side and charging after him.

Dr. Stevens spun around and took off towards the wide-opened doors. Racing out of the ward as fast as he could with the child still held in his hands, the doctor came to the security box and punched in the _close_ button. The doors closed in time for the little girl to slam into them, her frail body falling to the ground. She pounced up and, to the doc's, nurse's, and the kid's horror, started to ram her body into the glass panes over and over again.

"What is this? An epidemic?" Dr. Stevens asked himself. He came over to Barbara and passed the little boy to her, and then knelt down to address the other tiny tots. "Okay kids. I know this is scary. I'm scared too. But we all have to be brave now, right?"

He received a couple tentative nods, and a few whimpers.

"Okay, now me and Mrs. Barbara are going to take care of you…"

"I want my mom," a tiny blonde-haired boy whimpered.

"I know you do, and we'll find her. But right now, you guys stick with Mrs. Barbara and me okay? Alright, we're going to play a little game. Do you guys want to play a game?"

A few of the children nodded, looking at him with teary eyes.

"Okay, we're going to play who can stay quiet the longest. Whoever wins gets a…uh…gets a, ah, they can get my stethoscope," he pulled the instrument from around his shoulder, displaying the shiny device, "Would you like it?"

Again, a few nodded.

"Okay, let's go."

_Crash._

Dr. Stevens leapt up at the sound. Ahead of them a few nurses and doctors appeared from down the corridor, all with the same black eyes and nefarious smiles. He grasped a couple of hands and shouted "GO". The kids didn't need to be told twice as they sprinted forward with terrified faces, running alongside the doctor and the nurse. The evil men and women behind also took off after them, shouting obscene words and threats.

One of the children, a little Latino girl with a splint on her arm, fell to the floor. She cried out loud forming into the fetal position, as any scared child will do. Dr. Stevens, after hearing her cries, let go the tiny hands, and ran back as fast as possible.

"Come on child. It's okay," he encouraged scooping her up in his arms. He turned around and saw an enormous body-builder who seemed to join the pack running after them with the same intent. Not really courageous to take on that big bastard, Dr. Stevens continued to run.

"GO BARBARA. TAKE EM' TO THE LAB," he yelled.

Barbara understood and led the kids down the hall to the right. The lab located on the far corner at the end of the passageway was reserved mainly for chemical testing and pharmaceutical engineering. But unbeknownst to most who work in the hospital, there was a secret compartment that led to a secret room that the construction workers accidentally created when they screwed up in following the blue-prints. Only a few had found it and kept it amongst themselves, in case a couple of happy employees wanted to make the best use of their time.

It only took maybe three seconds to get there and another two for the nurse to punch in the pin-number on the code-box. The mechanical door unlocked and slowly inched open. Barbara pushed against it as fast as she could, ushering the kids in into the dark room. Immediately she rushed to the other side and pulled open the hidden door. After most of the kids were in, she ran back over to the door waiting for Dr. Stevens. She saw him running steadfast with the little girl in his arms with three main nemeses after him. Some of the others in the pack took off down in the opposite direction screaming, "Find them".

"MIKE," she screamed.

"Go! Protect the children!" he yelled back.

As soon as he got to the door, he handed the little girl to Barbara, and immediately punched in the number to close the door. The door started to creep close. Dr. Stevens turned around and saw the three psychotics running, almost meeting up with them. With the way the doors were inching shut, he knew they wouldn't close in time.

The doctor looked to the left and saw an IV pole. Quickly grabbing a hold of it, he held it defensively, waiting for the three evildoers to come.

"Mike, what are you doing?" Barbara shrieked.

"Stay inside," he ordered.

"No, get inside now!"

"No Barbara. It's alright. Stay with the children."

"MIKE!"

The body-builder reached him swinging his meaty fist. Dr. Stevens ducked in time, and swung the pole over his head. The other two arrived diving at him, and he moved to the side at the last moment and watched as they plowed headfirst into the wall. The doctor looked up and saw the door was now secure. Barbara refused to leave, slapping her hands against the glass, screaming only God knows what. Now it was only he and the three stooges.

The body builder was the first to get up. He turned around with an angry scowl, ready to rip the little man to shreds. Dr. Stevens decided not to take his chances and begun swinging the pole across the man's face. It only seemed to anger him further. He picked the doctor up by the scruff of his white jacket and tossed him against the wall. Winded, Dr. Stevens gazed up at the giant in a haze.

"You shouldn't have done that," the beefy guy pronounced in a thick Cajun accent bending down to pick him up.

Using his reflexes, Dr. Stevens rolled out of the man's grip, scrambling to his feet. The body builder straightened up laughing, slowly inching towards him. The doctor glanced to the side and saw his other two attackers also rise to their feet. He backed up, sliding his hand along the wall, hoping to come into contact with some sort of weapon.

The men walked towards him, causing him to back into a corner, where his back pushed up against a box. Instantly twirling around to see what it was, he was relieved to see it was a fire-hose box. Thinking there was nothing else handy, he rammed his elbow into the glass, shattering it almost instantly, and pulling out the hose. Turning on the device, he latched onto the pull-lever overtop of the spicket.

"Let's hope this works," he said to himself and pulled back the lever.

A rush of water instantly flowed out and doused the approaching enemy. Surprisingly, the instant the water hit its targets and the men began to scream in agony. Steam rose: the water was making thier skin sizzle. Dr. Stevens continued to hose them down, until they were good and soaked. Hardly able to endure anymore, the three men took off down the hall howling in pain. Relieved and somewhat confused, the doctor turned off the water, letting the end fall to the floor with a loud _clank._ Dr. Stevens gulped down a long, relieved breath of air, coughing a little at the stench of rotten eggs that seemed to occupy the hospital air the same time the people started to act strange.

He was about to make his way towards the lab, when someone behind him cleared his or her throat to gain his attention. Alarmed, he turned around and came face-to-face with the man who made the attack on the Carriden boy, his eyes the same as the others. The man showed off his pearly white teeth and grabbed the doctor up by his throat.

"I remember you. You helped the Winchesters," he said.

Dr. Stevens latched onto his arms, turning red from the strain the man put on his throat.

He was confused. He never knew anyone by the name of Winchester, but if this man was here again, he must've meant the brothers. "I…don't…know who…you're talking about," he gasped.

The man laughed. "Of course you don't. Tsk, tsk, tsk, humans," he shook his head, "So pathetic in trying to save one another, even though they know it will be the death of them. Tell you what, tell me where they are and I'll let you go."

The doctor clenched his teeth, gasping for air. If he were anyone else, he probably would've given up their location in a heartbeat, but as their doctor and witnessing the strong bond and hardship those two exhibited, he couldn't find it in his heart to give them up, understanding what this man's intentions were. Besides the fact, he really didn't have a clue of where they were at now.

Dr. Stevens glared at the monstrosity before him. "Go to Hell," he spat.

The man smirked devilishly, "After you." And with that, he snapped the doctor's neck to the side, killing him almost instantly and letting his body fall to the floor.

The light of life extinguished from the doctor's cool gray eyes as a tear fell out and slid down his cheek.


	25. Chapter 25

"Sam, I don't like this plan," Dean whispered exasperatedly.

"Yeah I heard you the last five times," Sam replied looking out the small-boxed window of the first floor lobby door, searching for any wandering demons. "Now are you sure the cafeteria is on the first floor?"

"For the hundredth time, yes!"

"Okay, then…"

"Sammy, are you sure about this? Your leg is still pretty messed up," Dean protested concerned, not liking the way Sam held himself. He knew Sam wouldn't admit it, but he could tell his abdomen and leg were in excruciating pain with the way he was slightly hunched over and only applying weight to the one leg.

Sam gave him a disapproving look. "I'm fine," he said through clenched teeth, frustrated at the way Dean eyed him like he was going to break any second. But he couldn't really blame his brother, because no matter how hard he was trying to conceal his pain, the mask still managed to slip off. "Besides there's nothing we can do for it now. So let's just get through this, and then we'll take care of it. Deal?"

Dean sighed reluctantly, "Deal."

"Rock salt ready?"

"Ready as it's gonna be," Dean grumbled lifting his gun in the air.

"On three," Sam lifted the handle. "One…two…three!"

They burst through the double doors with their weapons held out. As soon as they saw it was clear, they began to run, building up their speed, leaping over the fallen obstacles in the halls. They passed the front entrance where they slain the two homeless vampires, and passed the Emergency ward. So far no demons had seen them, which wasn't part of the plan.

"Come on you slimy bastards," Dean yelled at the top of his voice, "Come and get us!"

Ringing the dinner bell always worked. Carrying on through the many hallways heading towards their goal, Dean searched left and right, curious that the horde of demons they expected hadn't shown.

"You bunch of cowards! Hello! We're right here!"

That must've done the trick, because a second later the passé of Lucifer's henchmen showed up behind them. The many who appeared raised out shouts and calls, alerting the others that the main targets have been found. The boys now ran faster. The plan was now in play.

"Dean where is it?" Sam asked frantically, as they passed a sign he knew they passed by earlier.

"I think it's up here on the left."

Just then a blond-haired patient jumped out from a corner ahead of them. Dean had only a second to react, and he knocked the man down with two hits from the butt end of his shotgun.

"You think or you know?" They reached the end and turned left, but were disappointed when it turned out to be another hallway labeled **Cardio.**

"Dean!"

"What? I said I thought it was," Dean retaliated. "Maybe it's up here?"

"You better be right," Sam warned him, his attitude rising mainly due because the sharp flare of pain in his leg was beyond the point of debilitating, and his toes felt like they were on fire. He pushed past that and continued on. A loud shriek reached his ears, and suddenly a longhaired brunette ran out from another corner ahead of them. Sam aimed his shotgun and blasted her off her feet.

"This way," Dean stopped looking at a hallway to the left, "No…wait, this way," he quickly changed his mind, turning rapidly to the right.

"Make up your damn mind!" Sam scowled at him breathless.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry!"

"You don't have a clue where you're going, do ya?"

"Yes I do. It's up here Sammy. You'll see."

And lo and behold he was right. The big sign for the cafeteria came into view, and the boys breathed a sigh of relief upon entering the enormous room. The parade of demons wasn't far behind them, so they had to act fast. As soon as the doors burst forward and the demons followed through, the boys took off towards the back of the kitchen area. They passed the main cooking station heading towards any of the large storage units.

A pair of steel doors loomed in front of them. They rammed headlong into the doors, and were surprised to see it was a huge storage room with no other forms of exit. Sam took one look up at the ceiling and smiled. Swiftly, he and Dean hid behind the doors, while the mass of demons fled into the room, running in as far as the back. Once they were sure the last demon ran into the room, Dean lit up one of the firecrackers and tossed it at one of the sprinklers.

Upon hearing the noise, the demons turned around and spotted the two leaping from out behind the doors and closing them in, the sound of a huge lock being set in place. The firecracker went off, and the sprinkler system was engaged. Horrible shrieks and hisses issued from the vessels' mouths as their bodies were beginning to sizzle and burn from the blessed water showering overtop of them. Sam and Dean watched as all the demons ran back and forth frantically, pounding into the door.

The two hunters applied their weight into the doorframes, making sure the locks remained secure and the demons didn't bust out. The human hosts screamed and slammed against the steel. Sam had to grit his teeth against the piercing melody. After a few minutes, the slaps and pounds decreased in intervals as all the demons fell unconscious once the sprinklers turned off. The boys took that as their time to leave.

They had just passed the cutlery station when Sam felt a terrible pain struck up in his side. He grabbed onto the wall. His face was stark white. The nausea and dizziness he pushed back during the chase came back with a vengeance. His stomach roiled and he couldn't fight it anymore. Dean was about to ask if he was alright when Sam promptly rushed over to a nearby trashcan, shoved off its top, and heaved his guts up. Dean quickly met up with him, softly patting his back, offering reassurances, as Sam heaved a second time.

Spitting out the awful taste, Sam straightened back up panting heavily wiping the bile off his lips. He felt incredibly light-headed. His legs were beginning to buckle.

"Dean I gotta stop a second. I have to stop," he gasped squeezing his eyes shut from the blurriness.

Dean's concern escalated past the point of anxiety-ridden. "Here," he gently grasped his brother's shoulders and led him to a wall, helping him slide down. "Take it easy for a bit."

Sam exhaled, resting his head on his knees, allowing his arms to flop to the sides.

Dean slid his sweaty bangs to the side of his face, now noticing the pools of sweat seeping freely down his face. "How do ya feel?" He knew it was a stupid question to ask, considering Sam looked like his whole body was painful, but he had to know.

Sam lips quivered. He spoke through clenched teeth. "It feels like my insides are on fire," he balled his hands into fists to try and control the tremors in his arms.

"Hang on Sammy, I'll be right back," Dean told him, wandering off to the rest of the kitchen. He searched helter-skelter through all the cabinets trying to find some form of painkiller. None would make themselves known. Spotting a colossal sized fridge, he decided to take his chances and opened it, grimacing at the bright light it gave off. He searched its contents, but found no source of medicine. He searched some more and found to his liking an unopened Gatorade bottle. Thinking that will have to do, he instantly grabbed at it, smirking at the image of the Waterboy scene that played in his head. _Water sucks, it really really sucks!_ _Water sucks, it really really sucks…sucks!_

Whilst grabbing a towel that hung over the sill of a sink, he ran back to his brother, who still had his head resting on his knees.

"Here we go Sammy, drink this," he unscrewed the cap.

Sam lifted his head and raised his eyebrows at the bottle. "Purple?"

"Oh waahh. Shut up and down it," he pressed the bottle into his hands.

Sam shakily took a few sips, before lowering it back to the ground.

Dean shook his head. "No. No. Drink a little bit more than that," he urged.

"I'm fine Dean."

"No you're not. You're exhausted. Make me happy and drink at least half that, okay?"

"Yes, dad," Sam groused, bringing the bottle back to his lips.

Dean snorted bringing the towel to his forearm, and wiping off the blood from the rip that never seemed to clot. He sat down across from Sam.

After another long gulp from the salty liquid, Sam relaxed some more, stretching his legs out before him. That's when Dean noticed a large dark stain on Sam's shirt. He slid over to him and asked to lift his shirt. Not waiting for his brother's answer, he raised it up ignoring the particularly large hiss Sam gave, revealing a large blood spot.

Dean cringed at seeing his brother's discomfort. "It looks like some of your stitches broke. You still feeling okay?"

"Not with you poking around. Get off," Sam seethed trying to push his shirt back down.

Dean fought off his hands, folding the towel he held before, and pressing it to the spot.

"Sorry Sammy," he apologized when Sam groaned, "But we gotta stop it from bleeding."

"I'll do it," Sam declared moving Dean's hand away, and resting his head against the wall. He could feel his eyes beginning to droop.

"You wanna take a nap?"

Dean's statement brought him out of his reverie. "What? No. I'll sleep when I die."

"That's not funny."

"Oh come on, it's a little funny."

"How's the leg?"

Sam groaned again. "Don't ask."

The cafeteria door opened. Both brothers jerked at the sound. Cautious, Dean pulled himself to his feet, staying low to the ground. "Stay here," he whispered to Sam, before standing up and moving forward.

He came out of the kitchen area into the seating area where he saw the phlebotomist David, standing beside the vending machine a few feet away. Believing that it might be a demon, Dean took a step back. He froze when the kid turned his way and smiled.

"David?"

The kid's smiled widened. "Guess again." With a wave of his arm, Dean felt his body sling backwards, toppling over a table and falling achingly into the mess of chairs.

In a blur, the demon was by his side, picking him up by his leg and tossing him again. This time he didn't land on a table, but a utensil station conveniently located in the middle of the room. He sat up in a daze. His bicep stung terribly. He looked down and saw that a silver fork had punctured the skin, a fine trickle of blood oozing from the spikes. As quickly as he could, he took it out, and waited for the demon to stalk after him.

Glancing up he saw David nowhere in sight. Frightened, he tensed holding the bloody fork as a makeshift weapon. The sound of breathing was to the left of him. His head whipped to the side to see David kneeling beside him. The kid swung his fist and Dean felt his back collide with the floor again. He sat up to see David on the other side of him. Instantly, he made a stabbing motion with the fork at the boy's shoulder, but the demon caught his wrist. Dean gritted his teeth at the power of the grip. He cried out in pain when David twisted his arm, forcing him to drop the fork.

"You know none of this would be necessary if you and your brother would just give up," the demon said, twisting his wrist some more, where Dean was sure it was bound to break any second. He gasped in pain, not willing to give up.

"You're pathetic," the demon insulted. "You and your brother. Which, where is he by the way?"

"Right behind you," a shallow voice called out.

The demon instantly turned and was met with a face full of wood. The chair Sam held in his hands shattered on impact causing the kid to fall away. Sam chucked away the remainder of the chair and bent down to help his brother up. Only the demon had already flown to his feet and was behind him.

"Sam, look out!" Dean yelled out.

Sam heeded his brother's warning by throwing out a fist. David countered it by catching the fist in his palm, where he proceeded to catapult the youngest Winchester over its head. Sam landed with a loud crack on his side, exhaling out a pained breath. Looking up, he wasn't surprised to see the demon eying him with torturous desire. David then picked him up and raised his fist.

Sam tried to fight by throwing a couple of punches, but the fiend overpowered him, slamming his fist into his stomach and across his face. The hits fazed him. He was unable to concentrate. The pain was too much. The demon finally stopped by kicking him off his feet.

The demon stood overtop of him smiling at his triumph. It was obvious with his body language that he was gloating, impatient at the idea of wanting to be the one victorious. Intent on finishing the job, he took a step forward, but was suddenly tied down as two powerful arms wrap underneath the host's armpits.

Dean knew what the demon's main purpose was. And with Sam in plain sight weak as he was, he might as well butter himself up and put an apple in his mouth. Careless for his own safety, he lunged forward, hooking his bulky arms underneath David's and holding him tight. The demon squirmed in his hold, kicking out and screaming. Trying to maintain a hand on the sucker was costly, he was wondering how long he could keep him contained. David thrashed more and Dean knew for certain that he wasn't going to hold onto for thirty seconds, let alone long enough for Sam to draw a devil's trap or spout off an exorcism. The only way they could get rid of this menace now was…_Ah damn. No, I can't allow it. The angels might kill him._ His grip on the demon lessened and it almost broke free. _Fuck it. Let them try!_

"Do it Sammy! Your powers!" He cried.

Sam lifted himself up on his elbows, confused at what Dean was saying. "Huh?"

The demon's feet launched in the air flailing in a bicycle motion. Dean cringed at the strain this tactic put on his tired muscles. "Use them. Now!"

"Dean?"

"DO IT!"

Totally compliant and yet terrified at the same time, Sam stood up to his full height, glowering at the two of them. It wasn't easy conjuring his power. The hardest part was giving in, fearing that loss of control. But now with Dean on his side, he focused. The light inside his soul lit up, and grew in brightness. Volumes of his dormant power woke once he concentrated and spread throughout his frame in waves, growing in intensity. Closing his eyes, he directed most of the energy he felt burst towards his hand. Lifting his palm like he has done so many times before, he unleashed his _demon-given_ talent.

Almost instantly the demon in his brother's arms stopped squirming and began to cough. His gagging increased in force followed by tufts of demon smoke. It wasn't long before a long steady stream poured from the kid's mouth and the floor branded indicating the bastard's banishment back to the hotbox.

The phlebotomist fell limp in Dean's arms. Relieved, Dean gently lowered him to the ground, patting his shoulder. "Hang in there buddy." He stumbled over to his brother who appeared more dazed than he was a few minutes ago. "You alright?"

"Yeah," Sam gasped, swaying on the spot.

"Whoa easy there Van Damme," Dean quipped grabbing onto his shoulder. "You sure you're alright?"

Sam nodded when the swaying stopped.

"Good," he tugged on his shirt leading him away from the ruckus. He was completely astonished the work was done so quickly, and equally bewildered at his own actions of allowing it to happen, especially regarding the consequences. But for a fraction of a second, he was proud of his little brother. He turned to him. "Ya did good," he praised. Quickly he scooped up David.

Sam smiled meekly.

They left the cafeteria. Dean continually eyed Sam, worried as hell. The job wasn't over. Sam appeared peaky, but could hold his own…somewhat.

The duo set of doors had just closed when an unearthly explosion occurred in the recently vacant room causing the boys to fly forward onto their stomachs. David's limp body rolled away into a nearby patient room. Regaining their composure, they swiped at the smoke and ashy debris peering back to see the cause of the explosion. Through the rapidly swinging doors, they saw Rufus walking through the fire and smoke inside the cafeteria, carrying a bottle of chemical.

Scrambling to their feet, they took off as fast as their sore feet allowed. Another blowout occurred, causing one of the swinging doors to fly off its hinges. The loosened door soared across the clearing and plowed into Dean's back. He screamed out in pain falling to the floor in a heap. Rufus, now empty-handed, exited the cafeteria and continued to march towards them with a determined purpose.

Dean couldn't move. He laid on the ground prone position believing he was paralyzed, either that or incredibly stunned. He decided to go with the latter as Sam pulled him to his feet, wrapping his lanky arm around his waist and half-carrying him away. Something heavy soared over their head, crashing into the adjacent wall.

Something else flew and before Sam had the time to duck, it clunked him in the back of his head. He didn't have time to deal with it, because he presumed the badass demon behind them telekinetically was throwing objects at them. Sam picked up his pace, tightening his hold on Dean, biting his tongue in resistance to the throb now pulsating in his skull. Still managing to dodge the objects zooming at them from all sides, Sam searched all around for a room to hide in. But the demon was so close behind, there was no way they could lose him. The only option left was to fight him head on. Sam smiled. _No problem._

Coming upon another set of double doors, Sam took his chance to go in there. He helped push Dean through into a large darkened room.

The demon rushed forward when he saw the two hunters disappear behind a pair of doors. Careless of the rule of thumb to never follow a fox into it's den, he burst through the doors. He stopped when he saw how dark it was, but given the dim outline from the objects stationed inside, he saw it was a surgical unit. _Hmmm, how fitting_, he thought delightfully. Scanning the entire room, he saw there were three sets of alternate doors wide-open located on three out of the four walls. The Winchesters could easily have escaped through any one of those. But the demon knew they were still lurking around somewhere in that room: he could still smell their sweat and blood.

"Come now, there's no time for hide and seek," he said to the darkness.

Silence greeted him.

Not surprised, he continued, "Saaaammmm," he called out, as he would to tease a child. "Deeaaaann. There's no point. You know I will find you. And no doubt peel the flesh off your bones, part by part. Doesn't that sound like fun? Unless of course, you come out willingly, then I'll make it quick."

Again, nothing but an eerie stillness masked the room.

"Hmmm, no takers. Fine. Then I will come to you," he declared strutting around to the various cabinets. He swung open the doors, slamming them shut when he found no humans. He was about to reach the fifth set of cabinets on the far side of the room, when the doors all around the room began to slam shut one by one.

Alerted, the demon smiled nervously realizing his enemy had some moves. "So Sam, I see you have had some practice." He backed up alarmed when the main surgery table located in the middle of the room skidded over to the side. "Okay, a lot of practice."

The demon stood his ground not willing to show he was scared. Angrily he yelled, "I swear Winchester if you play any games, I will find your brother and tear him apart slowly, give him a reminder of what Hell was like. In fact I will do that to every single person left in this building, including the children," he threatened, searching frantically in the darkness, completely unaware of Sam standing behind him.

"I'd like to see you try," Sam replied dangerously.

Terrified, the demon whipped around raising his arm to use its power, but was too slow before Sam overpowered him and telekinetically lifted him in the air. The demon hung suspended. Sam flexed out his fingers, and the man's appendages followed suit, appearing strung up like he was an offering to King Kong.

Rufus's eyes swelled with trepidation upon seeing the dangerous look in Sam's eyes. "Please. I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything I said. Please let me go. I swear I will leave this place. Please," he begged.

Sam shook his head slowly. "You should've thought about that before you tried to kill me and make my brother watch," he asserted.

The demon's black eyes enlarged to twice their size, and before it could say anything else, the black smoke expelled out of the body in large quantities. Soon after it was exorcised, Rufus's head fell onto his chest and Sam gently lowered him to the ground, panting heavily from the strain his newfound power put on his physicality.

Dean emerged from out of the cabinet a minute later, stepping over to his brother, who stared at the older hunter on the ground with sadness. He appeared dead. Blood trickled out from his nose and mouth, some of his body parts crimped at weird angles. Sam knelt by his side reeling on the edges of despair.

He was about to close the hunter's eyes, when the man began to cough, his body succumbing to the shakes. Sam turned to Dean and ordered him to get a blanket. Dean obeyed and went back over to the cabinet he hid in and pulled out a thin hospital blanket.

While Dean was away, Sam could hear the man was trying to say something. His voice was barely over a whisper, so Sam had to place his ear near his mouth. All he could hear was "she's coming".

Confused, Sam asked, "What do you mean?"

Dean came back and covered the man with the flimsy blanket, tucking in his sides. Rufus continued to stare at Sam wide-eyed, his hands shaking tremendously across his chest. He couldn't speak, and soon he was having a hard time drawing in a breath.

"No. No. You're going to be fine," Sam called to him. "Hang in there. You'll be okay."

But it was too late, the whites in Rufus's eyes glazed over, and his breathing stilled. The shaking stopped and the boys knew then, the older hunter had moved on to the next world.

Completely ashamed, Sam stood up to the best of his ability and moved onward. Dean felt truly awful for what happened to the hunter. Hell, he was the one to put him in that situation. When Sam got up and moved out of the room, he knew he had no time to lament, as whatever his brother was feeling was probably much worse than his own. He immediately jumped up and ran after him.

"Sam, you did the best you could. There was no way he was going to survive it, no matter what."

Sam stopped and turned to him, remaining mute.

"He was going to kill us all. You did the right thing," Dean told him.

Sam looked away, clamping a hand over his stomach. He sniffled.

"Sam, it's okay. There's no need to be upset over this…"

"That's not it Dean," Sam interjected.

"Then what?"

Sam huffed. "What that thing almost did to you. Like that. To stand by. Pinned. Can't do anything no matter how hard you try. While watching you get ripped to shreds," he sniffled again, trying to block out the memory. "I'm glad I did it, because the last thing I wanted was for you to experience the same thing I did. No one should ever have to deal with that. I'm sorry."

Dean was speechless. He didn't know what to say to Sam. What could you say to that? So Dean did the only thing he could think of to offer comfort. He rushed forward and hugged his brother. _Screw awkward. But hey, they're still kings of chick-flick territory remember?_

Sam was taken by surprise of his brother's actions, but yet felt so relieved of him doing so. It's been awhile since they were this close. And at that moment, the apocalypse could've come and raged holy hell, and he wouldn't care. He got what he wanted: he got his brother back.

Dean let go, and stared at Sam, daring him to laugh. But Sam didn't. He merely nodded and carried on. They had many more demons to get through. They were side by side in this now, and that was all that mattered.

"Alright now what?"

"We take em' head on. The leader's gone now, so it should be easy pickin's," Dean remarked.

"Cool," Sam exhaled. He turned to Dean, "And you're okay with this?"

Dean looked uncomfortable. "No, not really. But you're the best weapon we got right now. I hate to say it, but let's put it to good use."

Sam eyed him, wondering what this sudden encouragement was all about, but at this point in the game, he wasn't going to press the issue.

They stumbled down another long hallway, where a group of young doctors made their way towards them. Some ran while others searched for weapons to use. Despite the constant pain, the two hunters fought gallantly. Sam punched one of the doctors off his feet, while swinging around and punching another in the nose. While they were preoccupied with their injuries, he took the time to exorcise them. Afterwards nothing remained but unconscious hospital employees and burnt tiles.

A rather lanky janitor came after Dean. Using his speedy agility, Dean fought off the demon in two kicks to the knee. The man fell to his knees and instantly Dean took out the jug from his jacket's inner pocket, broke off the cap, and poured holy water down the man's throat. It was a good thing he decided to fill it up at the water basin. The man gurgled and screamed, thrashing about trying to break free of the burning in his throat.

Dean clamped his mouth shut, allowing the water to have nowhere else to go. After a second of struggling, Dean threw a punch knocking the janitor unconscious.

Sam seemed to have two demons under control. While having one pinned to the wall with one hand, while exorcising another demon with his other. The amount of energy he was producing was strenuous, especially since the flare in his injuries would cause him to lose his concentration. However, he bit down on his tongue, focusing on finishing the job. The demon before him, a petite red-haired doctor, clawed at her throat, while spitting out black globs of demon matter. He narrowed his eyes, and soon more demon smoke fell from her mouth.

Once the doctor began her descent to the floor, Sam looked out over her and saw a little girl in a yellow Sunday-school outfit at the far end of the hallway. He gasped out of disbelief. He could've sworn her eyes were pale white.

Whilst distracted, Sam had no idea that his power against the other demon waned and he broke free off the wall. He was so mesmerized by the little girl, believing it was _she;_ the _she_ Rufus talking about. Lilith. She was the one that was coming. Lilith was here. The demon chuckled haughtily at the Winchester and he charged wielding a large bowie knife, it's host carried on him.

It struck and Sam heard a low grunt. Broken free of his paralytic fears after seeing the apparition of the little girl vanish, Sam whipped around and saw Dean behind him hunched over, the demon he had pinned to the wall pushing in a huge knife to his chest. Shocked, Sam threw forward his hand, knocking the demon away. Dean slumped to the ground.

"No. NO," Sam screamed falling to the ground beside his brother and lifting him onto his legs.

Dean was rapidly paling, and the stain below his chest plate was spreading. Sam pressed his left hand onto the spot. A sob escaped. "Hang in there, Dean. It's going to be okay."

Dean stared up at him, panting heavily. His hand flew up and clung to Sam's shoulder. Sam grabbed a hold of his hand and squeezed hard. "Hang in there. It's okay. It's okay. Just stay with me. Please just stay with me," He looked around in the dark hallways. "HELP!" The halls remained eerily quiet. He screamed again, "HELP! SOMEBODY!"

He heard a chuckling and looked up to see the demon that stabbed his brother rise. The demon's laughter grew an octave as he approached. "Poor little Winchester, about to watch his brother die again. That's just too bad. Don't worry I'm sure Dean still has his VIP spot downstairs," it taunted.

Sam glared dangerously at the man. Angrily, he swiped his arm out and the man suddenly crashed through the wall. Sam turned back to Dean, still keeping his hand pressed down on the wound. It frightened him when Dean's body trembled, gasping for air. His eyes drooped.

"Saaaammmm," Dean slurred.

"No don't do that."

"M's-soorrry."

Sam was beyond the point of terrified. The blood was spilling fast over his fingers now. "No. No Dean. Stay awake. You'll be fine. We're in a hospital, remember? See, told ya you're gonna be fine," he smiled trying to lighten the mood.

Dean's eyes fell closed.

"NO. Dean! Dammit, keep your eyes open," he slapped him. "DEAN!" he shook him, tears already making a steady stream down his face. "No. Please. Please. Don't leave me big brother."

Dean's body remained still.

"Please don't leave me. O-oh God!"

At that moment, Sam's world shattered.


	26. Chapter 26

"RUN!"

"Let's get the hell out of here!"

A group of demons ran wildly across the hospital. After witnessing the grotesque demise of their pals, they took off running as if a vicious pitbull were biting at their heels. They have seen some gruesome sights in their pitiful afterlife, but none to the effect that had them shaking in their boots, even with their acquired powers.

"Get out!"

"We can't."

"Why not?" one of them shrieked.

"The doors are sealed!"

"What do you mean they're sealed? Smash the windows!"

"They're sealed too!"

"FUCK!"

_**CRASH **_

The entire wall next to them burst outward showering them in bits of drywall and rebar. A dustbowl cloud of white dust advanced over the small group, hiding them amongst its depths. The demons coughed and swiped their hands in an attempt to see through the dense mass.

Sounds of failed shouts and flesh being pounded into echoed all throughout the area, causing the demons' nervousness to shoot through the roof. When the sounds finally ceased, the three demons looked on in horror as a shadowy figure emerged from the dust, his eyes blazing with fury.

The demons took that as their time to run. In all their years in performing torture and bestowing evil, they had never seen someone so angry. In a way, he was a reminder of Hell, a vivid embodiment of their time down under serving as a memory they were not willing to relive.

The demons skidded to a halt when another pack of their buddies met up with them at the end of the hallway. A beefy bald guy centered in the middle of the pack pushed against the tiny Asian doctor keeping him from going anywhere. "What the hell is going on?" he demanded in a deep, baritone voice.

"Get the hell out of here! He's gone crazy!"

"Winchester?" the man asked.

"Yes. Run!"

The man just smiled. "We can take care him."

The tiny man shook his head in disbelief. "No you can't. I've never seen a hunter this angry before. If I were you, gather the troops!"

"Shove off, we can get him," the bald guy spat, nodding towards the other five fiends behind him, all wearing orderlies' hosts.

The Asian demon shrugged. "Your funeral," and he took off running.

The five demon gang members moved forward, strutting down the hallway, intent on maiming their next victim. At the far end of the hallway, they saw him, marching towards them in a hailstorm of glass and debris. Every time he passed by a door, its window pane would explode, the door left in shambles. But what was scary was the look he had permanently donned on his features: a look of cold fury. His clothes were covered in filth and sweat and blood, the bloodstain growing larger on his side. It seemed as though he didn't care.

The leader shrugged away his uneasiness and charged at him, along with the rest of his men. Once in proximity, the leader threw a meaty fist against Sam. Sam caught it in his palm, and immediately twisted it harshly to the left, effectively snapping the bone and ligaments. The leader howled in pain, and was flown backwards with the nod of Sam's head. The others ran forward surrounding him, each one attacking at different times. Counting maybe five hits at the most Sam threw out, all the demon spawn were sprawled on the ground.

Sam remained quiet during the entire time, lifting his hand to each and every one of the orderlies, exorcising all the demons. The leader scrambled to his feet, grappling his wrist, and took off at a sprint. Sam glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. His eye twitched, and the adjacent wall to the nearby man exploded, knocking him off his feet. Sam was at the demon's feet in a matter of seconds. The demon peered up in terror, raising his hands in surrender. But it did nothing to inspire sympathy, and before the demon had the chance to speak, it was already exorcised.

Gulping in a large breath and wiping the blood spillage under his nose, Sam scanned his surroundings and learned that the entire place appeared like it survived a category five hurricane: him. Too angry to care, he walked on intent on locating every demon that roamed the hospital. With his newfound abilities, he could feel their evil souls pulsate in certain parts of the hospital. The main mission now was to track down Lilith and take down as many of her henchmen as possible, even if it led to his death. Which, more than likely it will be, but he lost all care in the world. It wasn't like he had anything else to hold on to.

"LILITH," he bellowed at the top of his lungs.

He was positive he saw her. It had to be. What other demon have they met so far that had pale white eyes and had a keen interest in inhabiting little girls? His hatred for the demon grew in intensity. She was the reason why they were in this predicament. She was the reason why Dean was dead. Twice now, he died because of her doing. And twice now, it was Sam's fault. But where are the angels? He didn't understand any of it. If God had favored Dean, dragged him from the pit for a reason, then why would he allow this to happen? Why?

The combination of guilt and confusion boiled together in an amalgam of bitterness for Sam. It wouldn't be given justice if he just said he was sad, hurt, and angry. He was livid. Fused with the idea that he was all alone in the world, and the apocalypse still was raining down upon them, he became even more dissociated. The power that raged within him was only fueled by his emotions. And he knew they were waning quickly. The tear in his side reaped a little more during his rampage, and blood seeped through it more freely than he thought it was.

The adrenaline he was living off of earlier, now was near depletion levels. He felt incredibly light-headed and the nausea was back, probably due to the strain using his powers put on his body. His joints ached. His eyes were at half-mast, but he pushed forward. He had a demon to cross off his hit-list.

"LILITH," he screamed again, alerting the entire hospital of his presence. "Come on you crazy bitch. You want me so bad, here I am!"

He stumbled on, the fire raging inside of him burning brightly. He entered an intersection heading towards the pulsing energy the demons gave off. It didn't surprise him when one demon pounced from the side. He quickly back-stepped, grabbed a hold of his shoulder, and rammed his head into the opposite wall. Another demon came out of another hallway. He whirled around and began thrusting his palm upward in the man's nose. The demon's head jerked back with each thrust and soon he was a bloody mess lying prone on the ground.

Sam walked on. There was a brief moment where the room began to spin. The recent exertion from fighting the demons wasn't exactly ideal on his current state. Breathing through it, he gained control. The dizzy spots continued. If he was to keep going, he needed to get over this real soon.

Suddenly, another demon ran up from behind him. Twirling around, he lifted his hand stalling the female demon two feet in front of him. Flicking his finger, the unleashed energy started choking the nurse. He stomped up to her, glaring at her dangerously. Yeah, he could've killed her, but he needed information. "Where is she?"

The demon grimaced and spat at him.

Dodging the flying wad of spit, he clenched his fist, causing the nurse to whimper. "I asked, where is she? Where's Lilith? "

At first, he thought the demon wasn't going to respond. But when he made a gesture of his infamous exorcism technique, she gasped, "No please don't."

"Then answer me. Where is Lilith?" he demanded angrily.

The demon stared at him fearfully with her black eyes. Gasping, she answered. "Not here. She…she left!"

Sam felt the anger inside reach boiling point. Of course, she left. Lilith wouldn't have stuck around, not when she could've been overpowered. She hated surprises. Disappointed, but yet not surprised, he turned back to the demon. "Guess that means I'll have to take out the rest of the trash."

The demon's eyes widened. She shrieked "no", but it was no use, as her demonic soul was sent downstairs, much faster than the others had been. Sam's technique was becoming more efficient. Now if he could do it to the rest without losing it. He could feel his energy slipping. Sensing the rest of the building, he felt the horde of demons energy grow in one particular spot. That must mean they were congregating. He smiled. Guess that's where he will head.

* * *

It was much quieter than the rest of the building. A still silence settled all around the scene. It was a disturbing sight. Bodies everywhere. Some alive. Some dead. Blood splattered the walls and adorned the floor. It was horrifying.

But there was one particular bloody body that stood out from all the rest. He lay deadly still and was on the brink of death himself. His pallor was stark white. Anyone would've believed he was dead.

A figure knelt down beside the man, softly running a pale hand over his chest. The figure pressed down over his rapidly spreading wound. After muttering a few phrases, a light lit up underneath the figure's palm and the man woke up with a start.

Coughing, Dean squeezed his eyes shut against the rush of oxygen burning down his throat. Establishing a good stability on his breathing, he pressed against the wet spot on his shirt, preparing to feel pain, but was shocked to find none. He lifted his shirt and saw that the stab wound was healed, not even a mark on the skin. Feeling a presence beside him, he looked up to see the figure and gasped, totally perplexed at who it was.

He was about to say something when the figure immediately silenced him by raising a hand. It spoke in an eloquent voice, "No time to explain. We have to hurry."

* * *

Sam walked headlong through the doors and into the room where he felt the congregate of demon energy. As expected, there was an assembly of twenty or so demons waiting for him. He knew it must've been a trap. Since he concentrated on sealing the building's doors and windows, there was no other form of escape and so the demons only option left was to fight back. He expelled a long tired breath. Every part of his body hurt, but he wasn't going to let that distract him. He focused on saving his energy just for this.

One of the demons, a tall built woman, approached, "So Winchester. Is this how it's going to be?"

Sam smirked, "I guess so."

The woman shook her head, "Pity. You are a handsome devil." Instantly, she threw up her hand and Sam was launched backwards unprepared. He slammed into the door, the back of his head shattering the window pane. He slumped to the floor.

A few of the demons came forward with eager faces. Shaking his head to rid of the _tweedy birds_, Sam climbed to his feet, throwing his arm out, to which the demons simultaneously flew backwards. Sam panted, trying to think of a decent plan, as the enemy was slowly getting back to their feet. He wanted to just exorcise them all, but with the blood loss, the exhaustion, and the light-headedness all piled into one, there was no way he could take them all out in one go. Yeah, this was foolhardy.

So he tried to focus on one. He raised his arm at the main female demon who spoke to him, and concentrated on pulling its soul out of the body. Wide-eyed, she coughed and gagged, the black demon smoke pouring out. But soon her buddies were up and running at him. He blocked each punch and kicked issued, all the while concentrating on the main demon. He gritted his teeth as the strain of multi-tasking became arduous. Turning around, he threw his forehead into a mediocre man's nose. After the man backed away, he continued on exorcising the woman. Soon the demon was in the ground.

Blood poured freely from both nostrils after a fist connected with them. Sam bit his tongue from the sharp spike, and cocked his head to the side when the demon swung again. Straightening back up, he lifted his leg and kicked the guy into a wall, forcing him to smash into an emergency box. Nodding his head, he unleashed some more of his pent up power, forcing the demons to back off him.

The dizziness came back, much to his displeasure. He breathed through it, his eyes narrowing on the nineteen demons left to exorcise. The demons assembled once again, launching forward with their fists raised high. Sam grabbed a demon's, wearing a patient, arms at the last moment, keeping them up high over his head.

Unbeknownst to Sam, another fiend broke off the handle of a broomstick, came around him and swung the pole into his injured calf. A loud primitive cry escaped Sam's throat. Ripples of pain undulated up his leg, traveling up to the rest of his body. Coming to a quick decision, Sam shoved the patient away, kneeling down to clutch at his throbbing leg. The same demon swung the pole again, cracking the wooden handle over his head. Sam fell onto his stomach, the _tweedy birds _resurfacing in his vision again. He grimaced when his body's sense of numbness left and the full fury of the bump on the back of his head became prominent. God, the pain never stops.

The demons stood all around him, smiling and laughing amongst themselves.

Unwilling to give up, Sam raised himself onto his knees. Lifting his palm one more time, he focused on the patient demon in front of him. The demon gagged, grabbing at his throat. The others realized what he was up to, and so they began to kick at him ruining his attempt. Unable to handle the kicks at his legs, side, and occasionally his bruised face, Sam let down his hand.

The demon smoke flew back into its victim, gasping for air.

The demons weren't done. They continued to kick at Sam. He tried to crawl away, but they surrounded him from all sides. The man with the broomstick backed up and ran forward throwing all his weight into a kick that made contact with Sam's abdomen. Sam screamed, falling onto his elbows and clenching his trembling fists. He tried to breathe through the pain, but it was no use: it was everywhere. A terrible force erupted in Sam's stomach and he felt it travel up his esophagus. Once pooling at the back of his throat, he spit it out: blood.

After more assaults brought on by the demons' feet, Sam wasn't able to handle it anymore. He fell over on his side and waited. He wanted it over. This beating. This life. His main target had escaped. But at this point, it was obvious that going after Lilith was pointless. And so he just wanted it to end, that way he could be reunited with his family.

So Sam Winchester just laid there, against the wall, bleeding out, constantly assaulted by the demons hovering overtop of him.

But as soon as it started, it stopped. He couldn't feel the demons kicks anymore. A warm blanketing sensation settled over his body. His eyes closed to slits, his body succumbing to the exhaustion it felt since they began this whole battle. The sensation grew heavier, a bright light shining in his vision. But then he felt something soft and gentle grasp his chin and pull it upward, where he heard a lovingly whisper spoken to him, a praise… "You've done well Sam…" He couldn't understand the rest, as it was all jumbled in his mind.

He could feel his body shutting down, or that's what it felt like. Then he heard something else, his name being called by…

No, it can't be.

He heard it again; his name being called by his brother.

"Sam!"

_Dean?_

Hearing his brother wasn't enough, and he then felt the familiar hands pick his sore body up and hold onto him. That's when he realized he must've already died. He was somewhat relieved. He couldn't wait to see his mom and dad again. _I'm good now, as long as I have my family with me._

And he closed his eyes and went to sleep.


	27. Chapter 27

The swarm of demons kicked, pounded, and mauled mercilessly on the youngest Winchester. It all had seemed that the kid, who at one point appeared that he would be the end for them all, couldn't hold out against the strength-in-numbers and lay there against the wall allowing the beating to continue. He was becoming just the way they wanted him: broken and bloody, and left for the gulls and dogs. It would've been possible had the door not opened.

All had stepped away to see who had entered the room and, in a way, detained them from fulfilling their mission. The smiles on their faces grew wider when they saw it was a small brunette nurse in pink scrubs. She ambled up to the group with her head knelt down.

The demon handling the bloody edge of the broomstick came forward. "See we have us a new pretty to mess with," he reached forward and moved a lock of hair out of her face.

The nurse smirked, lifting her head revealing a certain glow emanating from her chocolate orbs. She jerked her head up and all the demons were blown away. The woman stood there for a second eying the human hosts with disgust, who lay stunned on the ground. Ignoring her hatred for the worthless scum, he crossed over to the heap that was Sam on the ground. Kneeling down, she cupped his chin and said to him softly, "You've done well Sam." A glint in her eye appeared as she faced the demons now scrambling to her feet, "Now it's our turn."

She stood back up glowering as the demons formed a wall, each with menacing faces. The broom demon stepped forward again, clearly defiant and not intending on having someone like this scrawny woman make a mockery out of him. "That was a mighty fine trick ya did there little lady. Worse mistake you could've done," he slapped the broom handle against his palm, "Now what can we call you, so that we can put it on your tombstone?"

The glint in the woman's eyes brightened. "The light," she pronounced while lifting her arm. At that moment, a bright flash occurred illuminating the room. It lasted several seconds and was accompanied by the demons blood-curdling screams. The light diminished from within her palm and all nineteen bodies fell to the floor in heaps, all the demons residing within them disintegrated into dust. The nurse stood there overlooking her accomplishment, relishing in the fact that she wasted the pitiless evildoers.

Dean, after hearing the commotion vibrate in the room, rushed in. He saw many bodies littered the floor, but one especially near the wall.

"Sam!" he yelled running forward.

Sam didn't move and it scared Dean down to his core to see him so bloody and worn out. He called his name again, skidding on his knees, halting beside his brother's pale form. Quickly he took him in his arms, shaking him ever so gently, praying for a response. Sam's eyes were at slits, and he felt warm. Tiny dots of blood artfully was strewn over his face, some hiding amongst the purples and yellows of his bruises. Sam didn't say anything, but peer at him through the slits, then he closed his eyes.

"No. Sammy. Wake up," A wide-spread fear befell Dean, and he wished what he was seeing wasn't true. Distraught, he wrapped his arms around his brother's torso, embracing him so that he wouldn't let him go.

"He'll be alright Dean. He's just asleep," the woman said.

Dean gazed up at her hopeful, and yet dumbstruck. He took another look at the bodies on the floor and realized they must've been possessed mere moments before. "Caylee, what the hell is going on? Who are you…I mean, what are you?"

The nurse turned his way and gazed brightly at him. "I thought it would it would be quite obvious," she said. And at that moment, a familiar electrical light flashed into the room, much like when he first met Castiel, and he saw them, the shadow of her wings. The light faded and then it was clear: Caylee was an angel.

Dean looked on in shock. "I…I don't believe it."

"That was always your problem in the first place, wasn't it?" she asked him edging closer to the two Winchesters.

Dean hugged Sam closer to him, keeping a cautious eye on the approaching entity.

Caylee snorted coming to a standstill a few feet from them. "Relax Dean. I'm not here to hurt him."

Dean still found it rather difficult to get over his shock after the certain revelation. He still couldn't believe she was here the entire time. It made him a little angry. "If you were here this entire time, then why weren't you like the heavy metal band mosh pit like Castiel, with…with the exploding mirrors, eardrum blasting, the whole nine yards."

The angel chuckled. "Metal band mosh pit. Yes, you're right. But it has been awhile since Castiel has roamed this plain…and he still has a bit of learning to do in controlling his presence."

"Really? You don't say," Dean retorted. "But I still don't get it. That whole spiel about protecting your cousin was what…a bunch of bull?"

"No," Caylee spoke furtively. "Caylee did protect her cousin. And that was one of the many traits she did possess. I'm so sorry Dean, but I needed you to trust me. And so…I had to use most of her personality so that you can soften you up to me, trust me, seeing as how you hardly trust anyone.,.which is understandable."

Dean appeared more confused.

"You've never met the real Caylee Swarnson. Unfortunately, most people are unaware that her life expired when she pushed an unsuspecting businessman out of the way of a moving van. And even though she has never met you Dean, she is still smiling heavily down on all of us."

That was a shocker. A note of sympathy for the woman swelled up inside Dean. He felt bad in never having met the woman. She seemed like a likeable person, one less in this world that could've made a difference. The more he listened to the angel, the more he begun to realize something.

"So that's what Cas meant, about the order of things. Somebody was already down here, watching. Right?"

"Yes."

"But…but if you were here, then why…WHY did you let the demon in? Why did you nearly let Sam die that one time?" he asked her disdainfully with tears in his eyes. It hurt to think about that night, but he had to know. If she was there, she could've easily have prevented it.

The angel bowed her face, seemingly sullen. "You must understand Dean, that we take our orders very seriously. My orders were strictly not to reveal my presence. I could not betray my true identity, for if I had, the demon you call Lilith would've come much sooner with more combatants at her side. And more than likely, she would've come at a time when you were most vulnerable."

"But we were vulnerable tonight! We had no choice. Sam…I…let him use his powers. We didn't have a choice. Still you could've done something then," he lashed out angrily.

Caylee stood her ground, her expression unreadable. She spoke up after a small moment of silence, "Dean. My orders for tonight were to leave. I had to beg to come back, because I knew the outcome would not be favorable. Your near-death helped me with that. I promise you since I'm here now, I will not harm your brother. I was never here for Sam," she paused before kneeling beside both of them.

She tilted Dean's chin up with two fingers, "The business with your brother is highly controversial. There are many of us who do not trust your brother, more or less, they fear him because of Azazel's bloodline. Most of us aren't too trusting, as we have good reason to be. But there are those who choose to have faith and believe that there is good in all of us, including demons. I saw that in Sam. He may be tagged, but I don't believe for one moment that he deserves a dismissal."

"Then why were you here?"

She pursed her lips, her eyes sidling to the side indicating she was considering of telling him the truth. Nodding, he made her decision, "Death is a very uncertain process. We never know when a person's time is up, only that there is an approximation."

"But aren't there reapers for that?"

"Yes there are. But there are certain individuals that a reaper cannot touch, for they have been chosen to partake in God's army. Those individuals, others such as myself, are sent to collect. Thus we roam around watching, waiting. You get the gist."

Dean felt relieved taking in her words, wondering at that moment who the lucky bastard was who glanced down at the unconscious form of his brother, glad Sam was sleeping and not the alternative. He gazed up at Caylee, still mesmerized about all that transpired, before briefly glancing and grimacing at his surroundings.

"Don't worry Dean. We'll clean this up," the angel said catching his apparent reaction.

"We?"

The angel waved her hand, and all Dean knew or saw was a bright flash and everything consumed in white.

* * *

It felt…warm, not hot like he was expecting. He took a deep breath and learned he was breathing fresh bleached air and not brimstone and ash. His body felt like it was wrapped in a cocoon, comfortable and soothing to his aches and pains. He hardly moved, wanting to remain in this peaceful state of mind, not ready to face the pit. A hot light gleamed brightly through his eyelids, coercing Sam to finally open his eyes as he wasn't able to withstand the heavy brightness.

His vision blurred momentarily before focusing on a bedrail. Confused, he widened his eyes and looked around, hardly daring to believe he was staring at beige colored walls. The comfortable cocoon closing him in was revealed to be a thick hospital blanket pulled up to his chin. The warm light stirring him from his slumber glimmered through the blinds from a window not far from his bedspread.

Clearing his throat to rid of the rawness, he croaked, "I don't think this is Hell."

"No, you're right. This is worse," a strong voice spoke next to him.

Whipping his head to the side, he gazed surprisingly at his brother, who seemed alive and healthy as a horse. He sat up, his expression wild. "Dean?"

"In the flesh," Dean replied with a bright smile.

Sam could hardly believe it. _Was he dead or not? _"So we are dead?"

"Nah."

"No! Then how…you…I don't," Sam stammered.

"Take a chill dude," Dean ordered softly standing up and patting him on the shoulder, softly guiding Sam's body back down to the bedspread, "Lay back down before you strain yourself. You're not healed all the way."

Too tired to argue and still amazed at his brother's resurrection (or that's what he thought he was, they still could've been dead) Sam slowly laid down, still giving Dean a perplexed expression. "But you were dead!"

"Correction," Dean lifted a finger in the air, "inch from death."

Still confused, Sam squeaked, "How?"

"You can thank Caylee for that," Dean said casually.

"Caylee?"

"Yeah man, she's an angel."

"Say what!" Sam squealed, his confusion and amazement increasing ten-fold.

"Hey my panties are ties too. I wouldn't have believed it if I didn't see for myself. But yeah, she saved me…and your pathetic ass. Which I still can't believe you tried taking on all those demons by yourself, especially in your condition," Dean lectured.

Sam smiled, "Hey I thought you were dead. I had nothing else to hang onto, so I thought I was going down in style."

"Oh you went down in style alright. You kinda reminded me a Jackson Pollock version of blood. Thanks for the near heart attack by the way!"

Sam shook his head in consternation, "Caylee. This whole time was an angel."

"Yep."

"And I called dibbs on her. Man, what she must think of me?" Sam grimaced.

"I told her you were a wierdo and a narcissistic giggilo..."

Sam peered incredulously at him.

Dean released an evil cackle. "Or something like that."

"Jerk!"

"Bitch!"

At that moment, the nurse they came to know as Barbara knocked and walked in without waiting for an answer. "Oh good, you're awake. How're you feeling?"

"Ah good, I suppose. When can I get out of here?" Sam spoke eagerly, sitting up again.

"Hold on there cowboy," the nurse pushed him back down. "With the stroll you took last night, you still have quite a healing time to go."

"What are you talking about?"

"Oh I'm surprised you don't remember. I suppose you decided to get out of bed for a midnight snack and take an unsupervised stroll through the hospital. And apparently it caught up with you and you collapsed. Dean tried to find you and when he did, we guess that he accidentally tripped over you and took a nasty hit to the head. We found you both unconscious last night."

Sam looked away feeling sheepish, but yet confused, because that certainly wasn't what happened last night. "Oh sorry about that. Sometimes I get antsy and I have to get up," he half-lied.

"That's okay. Totally understandable. But if it makes you feel any better, Dr. Colbertson says, if you behave, then he can discharge you in a couple of days."

"Dr. Colbertson? What happened to Dr. Stevens?" Dean asked.

A sad look donned on the nurse's face. Biting her lip, she explained, "I'm sorry to announce that Dr. Stevens passed away in his home late last night. Dr. Colbertson will be seeing to your case now."

"Oh I'm so sorry," Dean replied now realizing who Caylee was referring to. _Doc, you lucky bastard._

"Thank you. Uh," the nurse cleared her throat, struggling to rid of her tears. "Uh, now that you're awake, I think it's time for your breakfast," she said leaving the room hastily.

Sam turned dolefully to Dean. "The doc. He died last night."

"I guess so. And I guess it seems that nobody remembers what happened either. Caylee wasn't kidding when she said she'd clean this up. It's a shame really."

"Yeah."

* * *

The rest of the morning had flown by and Dean became more anxious to find Bobby. He had been calling him non-stop for the past two hours. The man never had shown up during the night and he was incredibly worried about him. After telling Sam to stay in bed, to which Sam didn't argue as he was still suffering from exhaustion, Dean went down to the Impala, relieved that it was still in the same spot where he left it, and not a scratch lay on it.

Pulling out his cell phone, he sat on the edge of the trunk allowing it to dial for the thousandth time. During the third ring, a jingle sounded from within the trunk. Intrigued, Dean muttered "what the hell" while sliding off the glossy metal panel, the ringing becoming louder once he honed in on it.

Opening the lid hastily, he exclaimed, "Bobby! Christ!," at seeing the curled up heap of his mentor, with a bloody lump the size of a golf-ball protruding out of the back of his head.

"Bobby," he reached in shaking the man's shoulder. "Bobby wake up!"

A groan sounded from the old man. He slit open his eyes, jumping up startled at Dean's touch, his eyes wide from confusion and pain.

"Hey. Hey. Chill it's Dean. Bobby, take it easy," Dean cajoled, stepping back to give the man his space. "Come on, let's get you inside."

The two hunters strolled back into Sam's room slowly, with Dean half-carrying the old man, while Bobby held onto the back of his head. He still had a dazed look in his eyes and walking by himself was definitely out of the question.

Sam perked up at seeing the two, "Bobby! What happened?"

"Someone…or something clocked him good and stuffed him in the trunk. That's where he's been at this entire time. Kinda lucky too." Dean explained leading the man to his vacated chair.

After settling him down, Dean left to go get an icepack.

Bobby slumped down in the chair panting slightly. The headache, or probable concussion, took a heavy toll on him and he had a fantastic time in trying to stop the room from spinning. He looked up to Sam, who peered at him concerned like he was going to keel over any second.

"How're ya doing boy?"

"Me?" Sam piped surprised, "I should be asking you that Bobby."

The veteran gave him a stern look.

Sam cowered under his penetrating stare. "I'm…I'm fine Bobby."

"Glad to hear it," he said gruffly.

"Man, you missed the fireworks last night."

"So, I'm told."

* * *

It couldn't have been a more beautiful day to be discharged. The sun shone magnificently. The birds chirped. The breeze blew. It was a grand day to leave, and Sam wasn't taking no for an answer. Yes, he was still tired, but the anticipation of leaving the crummy hospital had his spirits up more than they have been in a while. Dr. Colbertson had him stay in bed, along with Dean's and Bobby's help, for two days, and if it was for any longer, then he was planning his next escape.

The doctor gave him strict instructions on continual rest and no sudden jarring movements to his stomach and shoulder, or the recovery time would take longer. Completely compliant with that, Sam eagerly agreed to each and everyone of the directions. After the doctor left, Sam turned to his brother and calmly, but assertively demanded he get a damn wheelchair. It was largely expressed in his eyes, that there were no ifs, ands, or buts about it, they were leaving at that moment.

Bobby waited patiently in the drivers seat of the Impala, parked out front of the main entrance. The doors slid open and the two Winchesters emerged. He laughed when he saw Sam grumpily sitting in the wheelchair resting his head on his forearm, obviously enduring some of Dean's snide remarks about riding in a wheelchair as the oldest appeared to be laughing. Once the boys neared the car, he immediately ran out and opened the back seat.

From afar, two figures watched quietly while the two older hunters helped the youngest into the backseat. Caylee leaned against the side of a small Gum, with her arms crossed. "See Castiel, I told you I had everything under control."

"Yes, I can see that. No one remembers the course of events, correct?"

"Yes. Only the Winchesters remember, which doesn't make sense to me. May I ask why they were excluded?"

"Everything has a purpose. You of all beings should know that. It is important for them to remember all that has transpired. It is necessary."

Caylee nodded, "Well I could never question your logic. It's so much easier not to."

Castiel released a small smirk, which he didn't understand. His sister would. She had resided this earth far longer than he cared to, assimilated to thier lifestyle, and so understood the insurmountable amount of behavioral body expressions.

"But I do have to thank you for helping them when you did," she turned to the 'tax accountant'. "If Sam had given up, we would've been right back where we started."

"Well, if it had been anyone else who had asked, I would've said 'no'."

Caylee nodded, "No one else would have asked. You risked a lot for me and I have to thank you big brother."

"Only you could've sensed what was happening with Sam. You risked just as much."

The angel smiled. "I wouldn't have been in much trouble as you would've been, but I do have to ask again, why?"

Castiel gave out a long sigh, turning back to watch Dean mother-henning, attempting to make his little brother comfortable in the back seat, while Sam was swatting at him to get off. The corners of his lips creased, "Because I too believe in them both."

After a long moment, Castiel turned to his sister, "Where's your charge?"

A frown appeared on her face, "Oh no!" She turned around scampering off, "Michael, get back here!"

Castiel raised his eyebrow, "Yes, you have everything under control," he remarked sarcastically turning his head when he heard the squeal of the Impala's tires. And in a blink of an eye, he vanished.

* * *

Halfway during the trip to Bobby's house, Dean peered in his rearview mirror where he had it set on overlooking his brother's sleeping form, snorting at Sam's long legs propped up against the door at a weird angle. After another quick glance, he saw Sam's eyes at half-mast, a dull green shade shadowing his face.

"How're you doing back there, dude?"

Sam swallowed. "I'm nauseated," he droned.

Dean's eyes widened. "Oh hell no, upholstery dude. You gotta upchuck, I'm pulling over right now," he exclaimed, steering the wheel.

"No," Sam objected, "No, it's fine, let's just get to Bobby's."

"Okay, just checking. But if you do gotta hurl, you let me know pronto, capeich?"

"Capeice," Sam answered with a smile.

"And dude," Dean called out to him, "If you ever take on a hunt like this again…"

"I know. I know," Sam interrupted, "You'll string me up by my toes and use me as a pinata."

Dean's eyebrows peaked. "Well, I was thinking of a good clunk to the head and hiding all your underwear, but I like that better. Thanks for the idea," he remarked, receiving a small chuckle from Bobby.

Sam rolled his eyes, returning his concentration on falling asleep while enduring the bumpy road. _Damn Dean, you need a better suspension._

* * *

**End**.


End file.
